The Darkest Light: Book 1 of The Inferno Prophecy

by Mulholland, Daniel

  She sat on her bed, dragon in her hand, it warmed her, calmed her. It made her feel safe.

  Now

  She stood in an arch way leading into a large hall, a tiled floor was surrounded by old looming stone walls, she could see the chips and holes where the stone had cracked and chipped. Huge black and gold drapes hung on the walls, billowing without wind. Each one supporting a flame of varying colours. But all of this was drowned out by the fire that roared back and forth across the hall as two groups waged terrible battle against each other.

  To her left fought a small group of around eight, long black cloaks, rimmed with gold - each supporting a thin, twisting flame. The same flame as her dragon. To her right a much larger group, maybe two dozen. Pure black cloaks. Scarred arms and faces.

  Flames streaked across the hall, the heat was suffocating, she could smell burning flesh and she noticed the bodies. They were beginning to pile up in both groups, the larger group with the larger pile of dead. She looked to her left, she noticed the hand movements of each individual, each warrior using a different technique. Their arms and hands were blurred, a faint light coming from them. She could see their mouths moving and the soft echoes of whispered chants, like the chants she heard in her nightmare.

  She could feel the power behind the words, each chant echoing through her. She watched and she felt as warrior after warrior died, flesh burning, she saw men implode, explode, burning weapons of shadows cutting off limbs and heads, she heard the screams of the dying, she saw the emotions on the faces of the warriors that saw an attack incoming and had no defence.

  She watched on in horror, helpless, as the smaller group bearing her dragons flame fell. But the toll on the larger group was incomparable, for each of the gold hemmed cloaks that fell, one or more black cloaks were taken with them. In their final moments, they released blasts of light, streaking through arms, exploding from fists, roaring from their mouths and all around her men and women died.

  There were two remaining now, facing seven of the black cloaks. They were shoulder to shoulder, palms facing to their sides. The air around their palms was blurring, she could feel the heat emanating from their palms, a smoky oval shape spreading out around them.

  One of the black cloaks threw a flame at the pair. Before it reached them, it dissipated, fading to nothing. It must be a shield, she thought to herself. A jolt of hope.

  But the hope faded. She could see it on their faces, the defeat. They were straining, pouring their souls into their shield. She could sense the heat that surrounded them, she could feel it fading, breaking, shattering. And so, could their enemy, their attacks increased, fire and axe, roars and thunderous shocks, shadows danced across the hall trying to break through.

  Their shield shattered, one of the last pair fell. A hole burned through the centre of his forehead. All that remained was a woman, she collapsed to her knees. Tears streamed down her face, each sob rocking her body. She wiped her face and looked up, defiantly staring down her enemies as their chants began. Arms swinging.

  I... her thought trailed off, she could sense something. It was different from the others. It sent shockwaves through her. The power was similar to that of the warriors standing before her, but different. The power being used by the warriors in front of her felt controlled, faint. This new power was different. It felt wild and infinite. It rolled around her, she could feel it looking at her, seeing her.

  Then she saw him. A man stepped into the hall directly across from her. He was surrounded by light, not just his arm, or his fist. It covered him like an aura. Thin tendrils of light reached out at every angle. He looked up and she saw his eyes. Or not. Where his eyes were supposed to be was light, brilliant white light.

  Seven – Light and Fire

  I left the woman in the living quarters, she had hugged me and thanked me. She had promised to repay me. I had just nodded. Words escaped me. I had seen so much death this night. My brothers and sisters had fallen, burned and wasting.

  I made my way back through the sanctuary, the fighting was everywhere. A magical duel in every hallway. I saw Al Guul after Al Guul perish, but every corner I took, every turn I made, I saw dead El-Assum. People I had known my entire life. I saw the scorched remains of Scholar Randal, our second-year healing teacher. He met us at the learning Hall every Tuesday. He gave us candy. Told us jokes and stories. We had laughed with him, cried. And now he was gone.

  I rounded another corner. Jade Monroe. Michaels mom. She was crumpled against the wall. Her eyes staring blankly ahead. I didn't know if Michaels dad and sister had survived, and I didn't know which was worse.

  An entire blood line wiped out in one night, or one or two survivors having to live on with half of their family murdered. I could feel tears threatening to break. Forcing their way to the corner of my eyes. I blinked. Scholar Kory, he had taught me how to cast a heat shield. He had sat with me for two hours as I tried and failed to summon heat waves. His hand had rested on my back as he whispered words of encouragement. He believed in me. His faith never wavered. And finally, I succeeded. And he had beamed, slapping me on the back and grinning with delight.

  Now his lifeless body was abandoned in the middle of the hall, three Al Guul bodies lay scattered around him. He had put up the fight of his life. But he had lost. Another soul taken.

  The body count continued to rise. Wayland Minour, the groundskeeper for the Red House, sat against the wall. He was missing a leg and both of his eyes. Burned away by a traitor. George Cassidy, a 15-year-old student, was plastered to a wall. His arms nailed into the timber frame, his neck sliced open and his body soaked in his shiny wet blood.

  And on and on. Every step, every turn, bringing me to a new body.

  I felt my anger rise. My arms were shaking, my eyes watered. I continued through the sanctuary. I could feel a huge amount of power coming from the event Hall. A battle was being staged there, the biggest battle. I could feel magi dying. I couldn't tell if they were us or them, I could just feel their life forces exploding out of their physical forms. It shocked me. Burned at me. I could feel puke rising. I swallowed and carried on.

  The next turn brought me face to face with three Al Guul. They were laughing. A body of a young child lay between them. Burned and charred. And they stood over the young girl, laughing. They were poking her with their feet, nudging. And laughing.

  They saw me and their stances immediately changed, arms waved and I saw the light. The first two threw flame. Dragons breath roared towards me and I dived into my well. I pulled on the light. All of it. More light than I had ever possessed and now I wielded it. It encased me. Head to toe. I could feel the power rising and surging through me. My eyes opened and I pointed at the first man. Flame sprung from the tip of my finger and shot towards him. Panic crossed his face but the flame dissipated before it reached him. The third had threw up a heat shield.

  Fireball after fireball raced towards me, I could feel my hastily erected heat shield begin to fade. And then shatter. The fireballs broke through. I felt the first one burn through my stomach. The second sliced through my wrist and I heard a thump to my left. I looked. My hand was gone. Lying on the floor. The wound cauterised. A tingling sensation brought my attention to my stomach. A hole had been burned right through me. My energy was fading and my knees were weakening. I could feel my life force leaking out of the burning wounds.

  I was dying. I had lost. And who was I kidding? A 17-year-old trainee scholar against three warrior magi. The outcome was inevitable. But I had been so angry. So, full of rage that common sense had abandoned me.

  I dived into my well and pulled on the light. I didn't know if it was possible to heal this much damage. I didn't know if it had ever been done. But I pulled and I pulled. An ocean of light and I guided it to my wounds. It lapped against my walls and coursed through me. But my wounds would not heal.

  I begged the light to help. Pleaded. Promised this and that. I was dying and I was begging for my life. The light stopped. I could feel it lookin
g at me. And then it spoke. Not with words. With feelings. I could feel sympathy. Sadness. I could feel the light feeling. The pain was unbearable. I couldn't comprehend what was happening. My mind was slipping. I could feel myself falling. The light disappeared and I moaned.

  My eyes opened.

  I was healed. I took a step back in shock. I stretched the fingers on my left hand. Staring.

  Dumbfounded. I looked to my stomach. The hole was gone. Pink flesh in its place. I felt energy course through me. Minutes before I was falling. Tired and fatigued. My energy sapped and my body dying. But now I was alive.

  I looked at the traitors. They stared back. Fear etched onto their heavily scarred faces. Their eyes wide and their mouths handing open. My hand raised and the light exploded.

  The first man dropped. In his shock, he had forgot to shield, to react. He burned down to ash as his blood turned to lava and his skin to ash. The second man reached for his light. I could see it being guided to his arm. I could follow it as it was pulled into his mind from the air around him and pulsed towards his fist. But I could cast while he was readying his power. A whoosh. A whisper. A thud as his head hit the ground. His body was still standing. His left arm still facing me. But the light was gone. He fell to his knees and then crumpled.

  The last man had his light ready. He stared at me. His arm flew up. I could see the light rushing from his shoulder to his fist and I knew. I knew he was casting Dragons Breath. I knew it would be powerful. I pointed at the light. I could feel HIS light. I could sense it. I could hear it. And I wondered. I wondered if I could make other people's light obey me.

  Was it that ludicrous? The light obeyed if you treated it with respect, it would follow if guided. I had never thought of the possibility of guiding someone else's light. Had anyone else? Had someone tried and failed? Succeeded? I couldn't remember mention of it during my studies.

  But I could sense his light and I reached out to it. My finger pointing. I guided a slither of light to my finger and let it probe the traitors light. And it responded. It stopped. It had reached the traitors elbow and stopped. I saw his face. Dismay. He couldn't understand. I saw him dive into his well. He pulled at the light. It ignored him. He returned to his physical form. He looked at me with fear. Tears in his eyes. He had spent his whole life talking to his light, guiding it, and now it had abandoned him. It crushed him. He was on his knees now. Head bowed. I could hear the drip drop as his tears hit the cold stone floor.

  I walked on. As I passed him I flicked my finger towards him and he died. I could hear the battle ahead. It was a big one. I could feel dozens of lights. Each one whispering.

  I stepped into the hall and took it all in. To my right, the final El-Assum of the battle. On her knees. She stared down her enemy with a steely composure. To my left, seven traitors. Smiles on their faces. Glee. Slowly changing to shock and confusion as they took me in. And straight ahead. A young woman. And it stopped me in my tracks. I could see the auras of light being pulled into the physical forms of the magi all around me, but it was different with this one. There was no light. Just fire. Her body was absorbing ethereal flames. Around her neck glowed a purple flame. Flickering and burning. The flames licking at its container.

  My light reacted. I could feel it feeling. It was happy. It felt complete. It reached out to the fire and my light touched it. The fire touched back. It merged and rolled and tentacles of light and fire exploded out. And then my light retreated. And so, did the flame.

  A fireball raced past me towards the kneeling El-Assum, I pointed at the fire and it disappeared. I turned to the Al Guul and smiled.

  Eight – Wrath of Fire

  She was standing on shaky legs, her entire being was tired and drained. She had saw the tentacles of light reaching for her. She felt them make contact. She saw bursts of flame and light, intertwined, coiling, fighting and shooting out all around her. She had felt her energy sapping and draining. She felt an intense heat from her charm, a bright purple flash and then it was gone.

  He stood in the centre of the hall now, looking at her. A gasp and a flash and a ball of flame was flying across the hall towards the defenceless woman. The man in white looked to his right as the fireball passed inches in front of his face.

  He reached out towards the fire. She saw his light slide across his shoulders, along his stomach, up his leg. It gathered at his shoulder and snapped out. The fireball disappeared. Gone.

  There was a shocked gasp. And she turned to her right. The seven remaining black cloaks were looking at each other. They didn't understand, that much was clear. But neither did she. She didn't understand any of it. Everything she had seen tonight had rocked her. Exposed her. Scared her. Magical fire, her mom dead, her dad missing, the light and the flame and the smoke, her dragon, the door, the battle. So much death and destruction and chaos.

  She froze. A spike of cold piercing her. The young man was staring at the back cloaks now. A smile on his face. But it wasn't a friendly smile. He was angry. His face was tensed. The smile a straight line. He was frowning. His eyes wide. His hands were shaking. An uncontrollable rage had enveloped him.

  He moved towards the black cloaks. They began their attack. Fire roared towards him.

  He moved. Dodged. A fire ball singed his hair, burned his robe. One even caught him on the ear, taking some of it away. But he walked on. A straight line straight into the pack of black cloaks.

  Each time a blast was levelled straight at him, it disappeared. Two of the black cloaks were frantically throwing their arms around, screaming their chants. She looked closely.

  She could see their light. It had stopped. Retreated. It wouldn't work.

  They stared at the man of light with fear and horror, terror took over. They were froze in place as he closed in upon them.

  Suddenly the black cloak furthest forward broke from his trance. He lunged towards the man of light, a giant axe of flame appearing in his hand. He swung.

  The man in light ducked. He fell to his knee, twisting his arm around his black. With a lunge, he twisted and spun, as the black cloak landed behind him a huge sword of light pierced him. Straight through his chest. The black cloak was immobilised. Staring at the tip of the sword protruding from his chest. There was no blood from the wound. He coughed. A drop of blood fell from the corner of his mouth. The man of light stood. The light sword vanished and the black cloak fell.

  With a roar, he closed the gap to the other black cloaks in two steps. One fell to a ball of fire. One dropped dead after being touched by the light. One exploded in a flash of light and was gone. Two fell to the light sword. The man of light spun and twisted, he flicked his wrist, he pointed his finger, he roared in rage and he breathed fire. His aura of light lashed out, snapping arms and legs and necks. His sword of light was a blur as he spun and ducked, stabbed and slashed. His fire roared and thundered, his cloak turned to flame and snakes of fire hissed and pounced. And all around him black cloaks fell. The man of light lost himself to his rage. Cutting and burning. Spinning and slicing. And then it was over.

  He kneeled amidst a pile of broken, limbless and burned bodies. Mounds of ash and scattered arms and legs and hands. His sword of light was gone now. His look of rage melted away. And all that was left was a young man brought to his knees in horror. His body shock as he came to terms with the terror he had just unleashed.

  Nine – The Calm Before the Storm

  I was on my knees, surrounded by dead. I sobbed and shook as flashes brought to life the horrors I had just committed. I could remember entering the hall. I saw the girl on fire. I saw the traitors. I saw a broken El-Assum resigned to her fate, ready for her death. I remembered the flash as a ball of fire closed in on her, a promise of destruction. I remembered thinking No! I remembered extinguishing the flame, something else I had never heard of or seen before. I extinguished a fire casting.

  I remembered the light speaking to me, guiding me. It was a surreal feeling, I had been taught how to guide the light, control it, how t
o convince it to obey my commands. But the light had come to life, had guided me. I remembered as a slither had split from the ethereal and formed a sword. Completely unlike a weapon of flame or shadow, it had been alive. It guided my hand, sent feelings to me telling me what to do. I remembered ducking, spinning, slashing and stabbing. I remembered the pivots and the flurries, I remembered the sword becoming a blur as my hand spun and flicked, blitzing the black cloaks. I had never trained to wield physical weapons. I am not agile, or quick. But the light had guided me.

  I had slaughtered them. I remembered as the light had become a weapon by itself, I remembered the thwacks and snaps as tendrils of light had wrapped around necks and arms, legs and heads. Crushing and breaking. I remembered as the light turned to flame, surrounding me, burning and destroying everything it touched.

  I was sweating now, shaking uncontrollably. I had one arm on the floor to my right, steadying me. I remembered the smell of burning flesh, the sprays of blood. I gagged. I could still smell it all.