Land Keep

by J. Scott Savage

  If he couldn’t stop the snake, maybe he could change the egg into a hawk. He could make Farworld so powerful that nothing could damage it.

  The way to do that had been right in front of him all along. Master Therapass had been more right than he had known. There was a link between Marcus and Farworld, a link more powerful than even the wizard realized.

  “To save Farworld, all I have to do is . . . heal myself.”

  Chapter 47

  Weakness

  Was it really that simple? With the new vision the glove provided, Marcus studied his body and cringed at what he saw. Again, he realized, the wizard was right. The injuries the Dark Circle inflicted on him when he was an infant should have killed him. The only reason they hadn’t was because of his tie to Farworld—a tie that for some reason he feared to examine too closely.

  “The doctors tried to repair my bones and tendons,” he murmured, running the gauntleted hand gingerly across his limp left arm. “But no matter how many surgeries they performed, no matter how much physical therapy I went through, it would never heal completely. Because . . . because the injuries aren’t just physical.”

  He shuddered as he realized what Master Therapass had meant when he said his wounds couldn’t be healed with normal magic. “It’s like the Dark Circle put some of what they’re made of inside me. The doctors couldn’t fix my body because a part of me is just as corrupt as the Dark Circle.” The thought of the darkness living and even growing inside his flesh made him want to vomit. It was like discovering a nest of maggots squirming and breeding just under his skin.

  “Then burn it out,” the zentan said. “Cleanse yourself of the darkness and cleanse Farworld at the same time.”

  “Yes.” Marcus nodded. That was the only way. Even with the power of the Innoris a’Gentoran, he could not completely repair the damage. Like a cable rusted from the inside, there would always be inherent weakness in his body. The only way to heal himself was to burn everything out—tear it away and rebuild from scratch.

  “It will hurt,” Marcus murmured. He didn’t mean it would hurt him, although he knew his pain would be so exquisite, it might come very close to killing him. But the cleansing would hurt Farworld, too.

  “Of course it will hurt,” the zentan said, his voice oozing with contempt. “It should hurt. Perfection requires sacrifice, and you are far, far from perfect. Look at yourself. Look at Farworld. Both of you are disgusting.”

  Marcus looked at himself—his pathetic arm, his misshapen leg. The sight made him gag. Weakness and frailties filled him like poison polluting a stream of crystal water. He looked at the world around him. It was no better. At the first sign of the Keepers, Terra ne Staric had folded in on itself. People were afraid, and the Dark Circle preyed on their fears. The fact that he’d ever considered himself capable of saving himself—never mind all of Farworld—was pathetic.

  “If you are afraid of a little pain,” Dolan said, “you don’t deserve to be cured. Give me the Hand of Life and stay here, wallowing in your inadequacies. You and this world deserve each other.” Zentan Dolan reached for the glove. Marcus jerked it away.

  “It’s mine!” he shouted, rage boiling inside him. He was weak. He was inadequate. His entire life he’d felt powerless. Locked in a wheelchair or crawling like a bug on the floor, he’d been dependant on others. But that was about to change. Holding the gauntlet high above his head like a lightning rod, he reached for all the power available to him. Magic was everywhere—in adults, children, animals, plants, rocks. Even the ground itself contained magic. All of it flowed to his hand like water down a hill.

  Wind spun around him in a frenzied tornado. Lightning bolts struck at the glove and added to the magic. As the power came, Marcus felt himself expanding, growing in the darkness. He felt as tall as the zentan—taller. His head seemed to reach the top of the tower and beyond. The stones of the building trembled beneath his weight, and the very ground strained to hold him up. He felt taller than the tallest mountain, looking down on the world he was about to save.

  People cried out in terror as their magic was pulled away from them. Forests moaned, their roots clutching the ground for purchase. Boulders shook, and plants flattened themselves against the ground. Still he kept taking magic. He needed all the power he could get to rebuild himself and Farworld. Let them complain for the moment. They would thank him afterward, when they understood.

  Somewhere far underground, a gray face looked up in surprise. The leader of the Dark Circle raised his hands in fear, the gold ring on his finger blazing—the ring with the same symbol as Marcus bore on his shoulder.

  Marcus took his magic too, laughing at the pitiful coward. “You did this to me. You caused this pain. Now you can feel it yourself.”

  Clenching his fist into a flaming ball of white, molten lava, Marcus looked down at his powerful body and prepared to purify both himself and Farworld.

  A single voice whispered, “Don’t.”

  Kyja came to slowly. Cold water pounded against her arms and legs, but something warm and scratchy caressed her cheek.

  “Wake up,” a voice said, and despite the freezing rain, she thought she was back in the Goodnuffs’ barn. How many times had she woken to Riph Raph licking her face or pulling her hair?

  “A few more minutes,” she mumbled, rolling over.

  “You don’t have any more time.” A flash of pain shot through her head and neck as she moved. Riph Raph nipped at the lobe of her ear. “Wake up.”

  “Ouch.” She touched the back of her head, and another flair of agony shot up her spine to her skull.

  “Come on,” the skyte said, tugging at the front of her robe. “We have to get out of here. He’s gone crazy.”

  Kyja opened her eyes and instantly wished she hadn’t. Wind-lashed rain stung her skin, lightning glared, and the stone floor seemed to seesaw beneath her, making her stomach lurch. Where was she? The last thing she remembered, she’d been racing up the stairs, looking for—

  “Marcus!” She pushed herself to her elbows, ignoring the pain in her head and the churning in her stomach. Something was happening at the edge of the balcony. Her first thought was of Marcus’s dream. Thunder crashed just the way he’d described it. Gales slapped her robe against her body and whipped her hair across her face. Rain fell in such heavy sheets that it was impossible to see clearly. In the middle of it all, a figure stood with his arm raised to the storm.

  Clutching the balcony wall for support, she pulled herself up. The wind threatened to knock her over the side, but she had to find Marcus. The huge creature at the end of the balcony was some kind of monster. Purple light encased it like a bloody, second skin. The figure throbbed with a dark energy that made her skin tingle. Evil seemed to seep from it like a putrid gas.

  “We have to go,” Riph Raph shouted over the storm. “Can’t you feel it? He’s sucking all the energy into himself. He’s going to explode.”

  She could feel it. This was what Marcus had warned her about. Whatever the monster was, it was the betrayer of Farworld. Not Marcus. But where was Marcus? She searched the balcony and found a second figure. Zentan Dolan stared at the creature with rapt attention.

  She opened her mouth to warn Marcus—wherever he was—to get away, when the creature threw back its head and laughed. “You did this to me!” it shouted toward the night, sparks of energy shooting from its hand. A blade of lightning sliced through the sky, illuminating the monster’s face. Kyja stumbled backward.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief. The creature had Marcus’s face, but it was twisted, pale. It couldn’t be him; it was the very embodiment of darkness. And just as he had predicted, the entire world drew back from him in terror and revulsion.

  This wasn’t Marcus. This ravening creature couldn’t possibly be the boy she was such close friends with. Unaware she was doing it, she staggered forward on numb legs—eyes searching for some semblance of the person she knew.

  “Are you crazy?” Riph Raph screec
hed, pulling at her hair and flapping his wings in a vain effort to lead her back to the stairs.

  “Not you. Not you. Not you,” she said, without realizing she was speaking.

  The creature clenched its fist, sending out a burst of light that nearly blinded her. Holding her hand to block the light burning her retinas, she understood what was about to happen. Marcus was about to destroy Farworld.

  In despair, she whispered, “Don’t.”

  Chapter 48

  Sacrifice

  Kyja feared it was too late. Heat seared her skin as she squinted against what looked like a miniature sun. The balcony was lit up as if it was the middle of the day, and the whole world seemed to stop.

  “Do it,” the zentan said, his face locked in a blazing grin. “Burn it all.”

  The creature that couldn’t be Marcus—but had his face—raised its hand, then hesitated. “Kyja?”

  Zentan Dolan spun around, his eyes meeting hers. “Stop your meddling,” he hissed. “This is none of your business.” He raised his fist to strike her, but his arm stopped midair as though frozen in place. The veins in his neck bulged as he struggled to move; something was clearly holding him back.

  Kyja thought she knew what it was. “Marcus?” she asked softly. “What are you doing?”

  At first the creature said nothing. She wasn’t sure it could hear her—or that if it did, it understood who she was. Standing in front of this glowing figure raging with dark energy, she felt as though she were in the presence of an insane god.

  Then it spoke. “Cleansing.” The voice wasn’t Marcus’s. It shattered the air like thunder.

  “Cleansing what?” she asked, afraid of what his answer would be.

  “Myself,” came the answer. Revulsion radiated from the figure in a cone of icy cold.

  On her shoulder, Riph Raph shivered and whispered, “Don’t make it mad.”

  Kyja ignored both Riph Raph and the zentan, who was furiously glaring at her, still unable to move. This wasn’t Marcus she was talking to. But somewhere inside it, Marcus still existed—at least, she hoped he did. She had to get through to him before he destroyed both himself and Farworld.

  “What are you cleansing yourself of?”

  “Weakness.”

  That was it. That’s how they’d gotten to him. He’d always been afraid of being weak, the same way she’d always been afraid of having no magic. But if she’d learned one thing over the last few days it was that shortcomings weren’t always what they seemed. “Master Therapass warned us that we shouldn’t be too anxious to get rid of our weaknesses. He said sometimes they turn out to be our greatest strengths.”

  “Wrong!” the creature roared, making the light flare. Both Kyja and Riph Raph flinched. “The Dark Circle preys on weakness. The only way to stop evil is to purify the world so the evil can never get a foothold.”

  “So this isn’t just about you,” Kyja said, knowing she was risking the creature’s anger, but also knowing it might be the only way to reach Marcus. “It’s bad enough that you want to remake yourself, but now you want to remake everyone else as well. Remember what the land elementals said about judging others . . . and judging yourself.”

  “It’s for their own good,” the creature growled. But she thought she sensed the smallest crack—that maybe Marcus was within reach.

  “Did you ask them what they thought of your plan?” she asked. “Did you ask if they wanted to be perfected? Or did you take what they want into consideration? It only seems fair to ask if you’re stealing their magic to purify them.”

  “Stealing? No.” This time she was sure she heard Marcus’s voice. He sounded miserable and lost. Beneath his rain-soaked hair, his eyes had a glazed stare.

  She pressed on. “What else would you call it? You’re no better than the Keepers. What gives you the right to decide what’s best for everyone else? You’ve never taken anything that wasn’t yours.” Kyja stepped forward. The light in the creature’s fist seemed to dim just a little. “Why start now?”

  “Don’t listen to her!” the zentan shouted. “She talks about stealing. But she’s the thief. She wanted magic so much, she stole yours.”

  The creature turned its head. Kyja thought she heard it say something that sounded like line.

  “That’s true,” the creature roared. The globe of fire in its hand flashed so bright Kyja had to close her eyes. “You stole my magic just like the Keepers stole theirs.”

  “No. I didn’t.” Kyja shook her head. But . . . had she? Hadn’t it seemed just a little too convenient that Marcus’s magic disappeared about the same time she got hers? Didn’t a part of her always think that having magic was too good to be true? She must have suspected, but her happiness at having what she’d always wanted kept her from considering its source too closely.

  “No one cares where power comes from, as long as they have it,” the zentan said to the creature. “Stop wasting time and do what you have to do. There’s no place for weakness.”

  The creature raised its fist; Kyja swallowed hard. “Maybe I did steal your magic,” she said, her face burning. “Maybe I’m the thief the Augur Well talked about. But I didn’t do it on purpose. I wanted magic so bad that I didn’t worry about where it came from or whether having it was right or wrong. But isn’t that exactly what you’re doing now? You’re taking what you want without weighing the cost. I know how you feel about your injuries.” She blinked away tears. “I wanted magic as much as you want to be strong. But I gave up my dream for Farworld. Can’t you?”

  “She’s lying.” The zentan said.

  “I’m not. Giving up my magic was the third test. Marcus, you were unconscious, so you never knew about it.”

  The creature stood silent. Like listening to someone far away, Kyja heard the sound of her own voice saying, I give . . . my magic, as though Marcus were replaying the scene.

  Little by little, the light began to fade. “You gave it away?” This time the voice was clearly Marcus’s. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She shrugged. “It wasn’t as important as getting you healthy. Once you were all right, there didn’t seem to be any point.”

  The glowing globe winked out, leaving Marcus—not the creature—standing in a purple glow. Slowly, he lowered his fist.

  “Don’t be a fool,” the zentan said. Now free of Marcus’s hold, he slipped his hand into the pocket of his robe. “If you quit, you’ll never defeat the Dark Circle.”

  “Maybe not. But if I do defeat them, it’ll be by my own power.”

  “Our power,” Kyja corrected.

  “Our power,” Marcus repeated. He held the gauntlet before him as if seeing it for the first time. “This provides the power the snifflers use to steal magic.” He turned to the zentan. “What would happen to you if it were destroyed?”

  “Enough! You are not worthy of the Innoris a’Gentoran. You are as weak as the rest of this world. They deserve whatever comes to them, and so do you.” The zentan pulled a blade from his robe. Flames leaped and danced on its slick dark surface. He pointed it toward Kyja but spoke to Marcus. “This is flazite. One scratch, and your blood turns to fire. Give me the gauntlet, or your friend is dead.”

  Marcus raised the gauntlet as if about to use its power again, but Kyja shook her head, her rain-drenched hair clinging to her cheeks. She’d seen what the glove did to Marcus, how even a little power from it changed him. “Don’t use it again. It’s too dangerous.”

  Marcus searched her eyes. “But I don’t have magic without it.”

  “Maybe if you destroy it, my magic will go back to you.”

  “I can’t take that from you,” Marcus said. Kyja smiled. “I already gave it away. Besides, I think the Keepers have relied on others’ magic too long. I don’t think they can survive without it.”

  “She’ll die first,” the zentan said.

  Kyja met Marcus’s eye and nodded ever so slightly. “Now!” she shouted and dropped to the ground. Riph Raph flew from her shoulder, blowing a fireba
ll to distract the zentan. But even as Marcus slammed the gauntlet to the stone wall, shattering it into a million glittering pieces, Kyja knew it was too late.

  The zentan’s hand was a blur. The blazing light of the flazite blade tracked her to the ground. Its aim was true. She watched it fly straight at her, knowing she was about to die and hoping Marcus would be able to complete their quest alone.

  She didn’t see the figure leaping from the doorway until he dove, stretching out his powerful body to intercept the knife meant for her. With an explosion of fire, the blade entered his chest.

  “Rhaidnan!” Kyja screamed. The hunter collapsed to the ground, his face a mask of agony.

  Without the magic of all the people he’d stolen it from, the zentan howled in rage and pain. His skin seemed to shrivel and melt. But Kyja cared nothing of that. She wrapped her arms around Rhaidnan. “Marcus, do something!”

  “Too . . . late,” the hunter said. His skin had turned a bright red, and smoke leaked from his eyes like burning tears. Rain drops sizzled against his cheeks. “So sorry,” he whispered through gritted teeth. “Tell . . . tell Char . . . I . . . didn’t dis-a-ppoint.”

  “Never,” Kyja whispered, tears streaming down her face. “You never disappointed me or her.”

  “Made . . . children . . . proud.” Flames burst through his robe, forcing Kyja to back away. But before Rhaidnan disappeared completely in a pyre of flames, she saw him smiling.

  Chapter 49

  Reunion

  Leaning against the balcony wall, Marcus felt as if he’d just returned from a long trip. His head ached, and it was hard to concentrate. He could remember putting his hand into the gauntlet and seeing so many amazing things. But exactly what he’d seen was beginning to fade. Overhead, the clouds cleared away—the storm seemingly ended by the destruction of the Innoris a’Gentoran—and light from all three moons washed over the balcony.

  Looking down, he was not surprised to see the battle appeared to have ended. Villagers wandered the streets in confusion as the guards relit the torches. With the power of the Hand of Life destroyed, his magic was back, but all the aches and pains—and weaknesses—returned as well. He guessed he’d have to live with them after all.