Light in the Barren Lands: Travail of The Dark Mage Book One

by Pratt, Brian S.

  Sleep still eluded him. He no longer felt even remotely tired. Sighing in exasperation, he rolled over for the hundredth time only to find the position no better than the previous. Finally, he gave up and sat on the side of his cot.

  Glancing around toward the sounds of the other sleeping forms in the room, he was slightly annoyed that he was the only one in this predicament. Thoughts crossed his mind to wake the others out of spite, but he knew that such an action would be frowned upon just as much as the slapping of an obtrusive snorer. As if to emphasize his problem, the lad in the cot next to him gave out with a ripping-loud snort, sucked in air like a pig in heat, then thankfully, rolled over.

  “Where’s Brother Falyn?”

  Kip turned toward the door at the sound of voices on the other side.

  “Sick,” came the reply. Kip thought the second voice may have come from Brother Bomma, one of the priests in charge of Novitiate training.

  There was a shout and he heard the sound of many feet running along the hallway outside. Such a thing had never happened before. Running was absolutely forbidden. Intrigued, Kip stood and went over to the door. Just as he was opening it to see what was going on, the first voice said, “We need a fourth!”

  Upon opening the door, Kip found the voice belonged to Father Vickor, one of the higher ups in the temple’s hierarchy. A man in his early forties, he looked more the street fighter than priest.

  “Kip!” exclaimed Brother Bomma when he heard the door open and saw the lad’s face appear. “Get back inside!”

  The Brother’s expression and tone of voice was not to be denied. Pushing the door closed, he was forestalled when Father Vickor placed his hand on the door. “Wait.” Turning to Brother Bomma, he asked, “How far along is this lad in his studies?”

  “Relatively new…” began Brother Bomma when enlightenment came. “You can’t be serious?” he asked his superior.

  “We need a fourth.”

  “A fourth for what?” Kip was mightily confused. There was something in the air that he had never encountered here before.

  “Can we rely on him?” asked Father Vickor,

  Brother Bomma hesitated only a moment before nodding. “I believe him to be trustworthy and honorable.”

  Kip’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. He had no idea Brother Bomma felt that way about him.

  “Kip, was it?” asked Father Vickor.

  Kip merely nodded.

  “Okay then, Kip. Come with us.” Turning on his heel, Father Vickor broke into a run along with Brother Bomma. Speechless and confused, Kip hesitated only a moment before racing after the pair.

  Other priests had joined them by the time they reached a doorway leading into part of the temple Kip had never before been allowed to enter. He slowed, but when Brother Bomma hollered for him to keep up, resumed his quick pace.

  Down a hallway, then down a flight of steps, Kip soon found himself in a room large enough to hold every priest in the temple, which was a good thing as almost every priest was in attendance. A few were still in their small clothes which indicated that whatever was happening, hadn’t been expected.

  A fourth priest joined Father Vickor, as they entered. Kip could see the priests were each grouped into quads. Each quad was positioned an equidistance from the others as they formed a grid around the outer edge of the room. Close to the center, he saw the High Priest standing motionless.

  Arms slightly raised, eyes closed, the High Priest looked to be deep in concentration. Then by some unspoken command, each priest fell silent. Nervous, and feeling somewhat out of his depth, Kip stared around at the others in the room.

  “Now, gentlemen,” spoke the High Priest.

  White light flared as each leader of a quad called upon the holy might of their god. A second later, the other three of the quad did the same. Kip had no idea what to do, and was a little bit scared. His fear rose exponentially when he felt something grab hold of him deep within. Whatever it was, it felt as if it was drawing something from him.

  Scared, his first impulse was to fight it, but then he thought better about doing such. He was in the company of priests, men whom he had come to know, some better than others, but all who had been nothing but good and helpful. Whatever was happening to him couldn’t be bad. So putting faith in these men and his newfound god, he gritted his teeth and endured it.

  The High Priest was no longer in the room deep beneath the temple, at least his spiritual self was not. Roaming the ether between worlds, he was buoyed by the faith and power of his god.

  Long had he and his priests been practicing this. For two months now had he drilled his priests on merging their faith and righteous might together as a cohesive whole. Until today, he had no clue as to why. He simply woke up one morning and knew this was something his god wanted done.

  He still didn’t know precisely why they were doing this. Sometimes following a god raised more questions than answers. But when the need to do something came over him, there was no denying it. And that time was now.

  Trying to maintain a sense of self in the tumultuousness of the ether, he kept a firm grasp upon the lifeline his priests were supplying. Without it, there would be no way for him to find his way back. Battered to and fro, he forged his way ever deeper into the cosmic maelstrom.

  He knew he searched for something. As to what, he prayed his god would inform him when the time was right. Then he saw something that kept its form longer than a moment. Drawn to it, he discovered three blotches upon the ether, adrift and tossed about as so much flotsam. He hadn’t a clue as to what they were, but certainty filled him and he knew these were what he had come to find.

  Drawing upon the righteous power of his priests, he pulled magic from his lifeline and fought the maelstrom for control of the blotches. Power from his god extended outward from his self to envelope the three blotches. When he had them securely ensconced within the protective haven of his god’s might, he realized these blotches were more than simple manifestations of the maelstromic chaos. Much more.

  Unable to fathom their mystery further due to having to continually battle the churning maelstrom for control, he began retreating along the lifeline to his earthly self. Along with him, came that which he had been sent to recover.

  Every bit of retreat was a battle. The maelstromic ether fought to keep him in its bosom, unwilling to allow him his freedom. But the power of his god could not be overcome. Little by little, he and his prize withdrew along the lifeline until at last, he passed from the etheric plane and into the earthly one.

  Kip was close to passing out when cries from the other priests brought him back from the edge. The draining sensation deep within him was gone. Hair matted with sweat, head pounding, Kip saw flares of white going up all over the room as priests called forth the power of their god.

  The High Priest was leaning heavily on another priest who was unfamiliar to Kip. “Seal the room!” the High Priest shouted, and priestly magic answered the call.

  Kip moved closer to see what was going on. The High Priest was surrounded by the senior members of the temple, a ring of priests, each aglow with the power of their god. Brother Bomma laid a hand on his shoulder to keep him back, but the Novice merely shrugged it off.

  Moving forward, he caught a glimpse of three forms lying on the floor before the High Priest; two men and a girl, each awash with blood. None were moving. “Are they alive?” asked the High Priest.

  “One is not, Reverend Father.”

  Kip forged his way through the ring of priests. He watched as the High Priest moved toward the larger of the two men lying prone upon the floor only to stagger and fall. If not for the quick reflexes of a nearby priest, he would have hit the floor.

  “You are too weak,” the priest cautioned.

  “I am not!” Moving forward on shaky legs, the High Priest knelt at the head of the man. Immediately, the white glow of Morcyth sprung to life around the High Priest and quickly enveloped the man before him.

  Dark hair, muscular
build, twin knives on his hips, Kip gasped for he had seen this man once before. Glows also surrounded the other man, and what Kip could now see was a little girl, as priests worked to keep their spirits from departing bodies on the verge of death. Saddened by the still form of the girl, he moved to step forward and offer what comfort he could, but Brother Bomma had reached his side and took hold of him.

  “Disturb them not,” the Brother warned quietly.

  Kip kept his position and turned his gaze back to the High Priest.

  Deep in concentration, the High Priest called upon his god to draw the man’s spirit back to his body.

  In the short time that he had been at the temple, Kip had seen healings before, even been the focus of one after he and another Novice had been involved in a brawl at a local tavern. But all that had gone before was as nothing compared with what he saw this night.

  None left the room while the High Priest worked on the lifeless form before him. Years later, when Kip would relate this event to Novices in his care, he would tell how tears wet the cheeks of the High Priest, and how he had been unwilling to give the man up as dead. But for now, Kip merely watched in awe as the High Priest worked to save a life.

  “Come on, Jiron,” said the High Priest. Priestly magic flowed into the man’s body. Working to undo the damage done, it prepared the earthly vessel for the return of the man’s spirit. Mending blood vessels, muscle, bone, it gradually fixed that which had been sundered. Then when all was in readiness, Miko called upon Morcyth to bring his friend back to life.

  He laid his hand upon Jiron’s chest. “Breathe, my friend. Let your heart beat again. Do not allow Jira to awaken and find her father gone.” Thumping Jiron’s chest with a single blow, he searched for signs of life.

  Every priest in the room held his breath as each waited expectantly. When Jiron’s chest rose and fell, then rose again, a cheer went up. Another priest pressed his ear against Jiron’s chest and heard the heartbeat within. To the High Priest he said, “He lives.”

  “Jira and the man live as well, Reverend Father.”

  Miko nodded. “Bring cots. Let none know of what transpired here this night.”

  “It will be done.”

  As priests went to carry out Miko’s bidding, the High Priest of Morcyth sat back and gazed at the three, bullet riddled bodies before him. He and his priests had managed to save them and for that he praised Morcyth. But what had happened? How did this come to be? Until they awoke and answers could be learned, he planned to keep their presence secret.

  Forces were again astir in the world and Miko feared what would come next. For whatever could do this to The Dark Mage, was something dire indeed.

  Now, take a look at a

  New Voice in Fantasy…

  Geoffrey Verdegast

  author of

  Of Souls and Sigmas

  BORN ON ONE WORLD.

  MYSTICALLY BORNE TO ANOTHER.

  MAROONED.

  IMPRISONED.

  IMPRESSED INTO WARFARE.

  SOMETIMES LIFE UNFOLDS EXACTLY

  AS YOU ENVISIONED IT WOULD.

  OF STAVES

  AND SIGMAS

  a novel by

  GEOFFREY VERDEGAST

  Follow James Wagner as he is spirited from earth

  to a mediaeval world of untempered barbarism,

  where freedom is a word long forgotten,

  where death awaits in the Great Arena of gladiatorial combat,

  where honour and courage are as old riches to be regained,

  and where friends and allies emerge from unlikely sources.

  Available from: BARNES & NOBLE and AMAZON.COM

  Visit the Official Website at:

  www.SoulsOfErgos.com

  ISBN: 978-159858-292-5

  A word from Brian S. Pratt about

  Mr. Verdegast’s book:

  Of Souls and Sigmas

  Have you ever read Homer? The Iliad? Or the one that killed me in high school, Lord Jim? Of Staves and Sigmas is written in the style of classic literature and I couldn't have been more pleased. True, this self proclaimed long winded author goes into minute detail about everything, but does it in such a way as to be most entertaining to the reader. And do you like the flair of merry old England? At first I thought this work to be fraught with misspellings until the author was kind enough to enlighten me to the knowledge that there is an 'English' or 'British' way to spell words as well as the American way I grew up with. Once I realized that, this American set to with a vengeance.

  The premise of this book would at first seem clichéd and standard old fare. Man from this world is inexplicable drawn to another. Why, my own work covers a variant of that as well. But in Mr. Verdegast's there is much more to it than that. James Wagner, or Voknor as he's known in the other world of Ergos, is part of something that in the first book of the series is still vague with only glimpses and tantalizing foreshadowings of what is to come.

  In the beginning he's in an psychiatric institute because of blackouts and strange behaviors which he refers to as benders. Be warned, the first several chapters are full of psychiatric mumbo jumbo, but it is necessary as it lays very important groundwork for what is to follow. Ever read The Chronicles of Thomas Covenant? And how you had to wade through about 30 pages of development before you get to the good stuff? Of Staves and Sigmas is sort of like that, only much more interesting. After all, Thomas Covenant didn't run through walls naked as a jay bird or sit in the middle of an office having a nonexistent cook-out while in the throes of one of his blackout sessions.

  Once he gets to Ergos, the action picks up as only a master storyteller could achieve. Never a wasted paragraph, everything either lays groundwork or moves the story along. I found myself at times reading the story, not for what was happening, but the way in which the author put the words together. I have to tell you, my own writing improved due to reading Mr. Verdegast's work.

  Character development is constant throughout the book. World building is intricate. Every character remains true to themselves throughout. None of this where in chapter one the author mentions a certain character is a Vegan only to have them eating roast beef in chapter ten. Very consistent.

  I can honestly say that I have not read a book like this since English Class in high school. The word use is at least 10th grade if not college level and the only problems I found with it were a few misplaced, or missing quotation marks. What a refreshing read after having read so many 'top of the genre fantasy books' written at grade school level.

  The ending of the book is all one could hope for. Heroics and battle, fighting and camaraderie, this book is sure to go down as one of the best written, and highly entertaining books of the first part of the Twenty First Century.

  The only downside to this book is that the rest of the series has yet to be written. But I have been assured by the author that the second installment is even now close to completion. On the upside, Of Staves and Sigmas doesn't end in a cliffhanger. True, events are in motion and you want to find out what happens, but you aren't left feeling like "What? It's over? It CAN'T be over!!" because of plots left in mid-dangle.

  I wholeheartedly recommend this to any serious fantasy reader. Those looking for lighter fare may wish to search elsewhere. But for those who've been reading for years, and find that books being published by the main publishers all seem to read alike and are less than fulfilling, then for you, I say you must try Of Staves and Sigmas. You will not regret it.

 

 

 
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