The Young Magician tlt-1

by Michael Foster

  They both stood readied and positioned, poised atop the highest tower of Cintar. Samuel held as much magic as he had ever felt before-more than when he had killed the dark-skinned bandits, more than when he had felled Tabbet the magician, even more than when he had slaughtered Captain Garret and his men. He was not fuelled with rage as then, but this was even better. Just as Grand Master Anthem had told him, he was in full control of his power. He could feel more magic within him than he had ever thought was possible, but he knew it would still not be enough to match the-thing-that-had-once-been-Ash. A man could not possibly defeat such a god, but he had to try.

  An ocean of power blossomed and filled the air around Ash as he summoned his killing stroke from the Staff of Elders. It took the form of a monstrous being rising up behind him. Samuel’s eyes opened wide at the sight, for it was awesome and vast. So much magic loomed in that space that the air began to smell burnt and acrid in his nose. He had no hope of withstanding such power, but still he stood defiantly, depending on his one slender chance.

  ‘Come on, Ash!’ Samuel called out. ‘What hope do you have if you cannot even defeat a single pathetic magician such as me? The world is waiting for you to consume it. Kill me if you dare!’

  More and more power began manifesting from the ether, drawn by the will of Ash to join the raging torrent around him. The Elder Staff howled out in torment from within his grasp while the ether itself seemed to growl in anger as Ash tested its limits. Finally, he finished his gathering and there was a long and silent pause as Ash turned directly to Samuel with a maniacal, eyeless grin. The man had gathered more power around himself than Samuel would ever have thought possible.

  It was all Samuel could hope for. He threw his hands up and called his own magic blazing forth. Ash began to cackle at the pitiful amount of energy that Samuel had brought into being, for it paled in comparison to what he had summoned. The young magician did not have a fraction of the power he needed to defend himself against Ash, let alone defeat him, but Samuel did not intend on attacking Ash at all.

  The storm raged above, now covering the sky from horizon to horizon. It was a sea of raw power, caught up overhead, and it craved to be unleashed. Samuel’s last desperate surges of magic were not directed at Ash, but directly up into the heart of the raging skies. The storm had reached its threshold, filled with incredible, unspeakable power in reflection of all the energy gathered below, and Samuel gave it all the magic he had to offer-and he gave it a path of release.

  Ash’s gaze followed Samuel’s gesture towards the clouds and his rattling laughter stopped abruptly.

  The air sighed, then a silver bolt blazed forth and speared Ash to the tower. A clap of thunder, violent beyond belief, fell behind it and struck them like the end of the world. It shook the earth and made the tower sway and groan as if to fall. Samuel dropped to his hands and knees and hung on with all his might lest he be thrown from the tower altogether. Stones shattered and burst away from its edges, raining down below. Every man, woman and child in the city would have dived under their tables or run screaming from the streets. The air was full of shrieks and moans and deafening crashes-perhaps from Ash, or perhaps from the tower or the storm itself. When it was done, the sky was silent and the thunder faded to distant echoes.

  The stones around Ash smoked and his remaining scraps of clothing had burst into flames. He opened his mouth to make some kind of utterance and a second bolt fell, just before a boom that felt like a hammer blow to the side of Samuel’s head. A brilliant, glowing streak scarred his dazzled eyes before he could look away.

  The storm then spoke one final time but, this time, it launched a flurry of lightning rods that streamed from the clouds and set Ash dancing and fitting like a puppet, threading him to the sky with incandescent copper lacing. The noise was deafening-a continuous shrieking and banging that had Samuel lying flat and covering his ears for all he was worth. He could feel his skin tightening and the hairs on his arms smouldered, but he dared not cast any spell to protect himself lest he also attracted the sky’s wrath.

  When the lightning had finally abated, only the wind and the soft crackling of Ash’s skin then remained to be heard.

  Ash was still breathing; a wet and laboured sound that sounded close to death, and he was still on his feet. He rocked forwards and back, ready to fall, and Samuel could not believe there was any kind of life still in him at all, whatever form it took. The man had truly become some kind of monster.

  Then, Ash’s right hand slowly opened and the Argum Stone dropped out, falling towards the scarred and blackened stones.

  At this, Samuel found some uncanny reserve of energy. He gained his feet and dived, catching the ring before it could bounce to the floor. Climbing back onto his legs, he could feel the relic nestled firmly in his clenched palm, safely away from Ash.

  Ash took an unsteady step, his mouth agape in frozen pain. ‘What was it that made you so powerful, Samuel?’ he then asked, pinning Samuel with his steaming, eyeless sockets. His voice was like tearing parchment. ‘Even with all the magic of the Ancients at my beckoning, you still managed to defy me. What filled you with such power, boy? What force made you into this unspeakable creature that has defeated me?’

  ‘You did,’ Samuel said, feeling the icy ring tight within his fist. ‘Each time you tried to destroy me, you set me an obstacle to climb, a goal to reach, a new strength to find. Each time you tried to kill me, I was born anew. Each time you destroyed something I loved, a seed of vengeance grew in its place. If it weren’t for you, I would still be picking apples in my father’s orchard. You made me everything I am, Ash, and I will utterly destroy you for what you have done, as I have so vowed.’

  Ash raised the Staff of Elders once more with trembling arms and Samuel could feel him reaching for the power within it. Incredibly, a trickle of magic began to seep out of the ancient wood and into Ash. The magic of the Ancients had changed Ash altogether. His body had all but been destroyed. It was now merely a smouldering carcass, a vehicle for carrying his maddened soul and somehow he had ceased being human altogether. The fury of the storm had stunned him, but it had not killed him. Now he had found some way of reaching into the Staff of Elders directly. The magic began coming faster, leaping in ever-growing bursts into him. It was not nearly as much power as before, but it was growing greater at an alarming rate. Ash began laughing-a sickening and loathsome sound that could never emit from something human.

  ‘I have learnt such things as you would scarcely believe, Magician,’ the creature facing Samuel growled. ‘I have seen the secrets of this world and I will not be cast aside so easily.’

  Samuel was spent. The storm was spent. There was only one more thing he could do.

  There, clutched tightly in his palm, Samuel held the key to unimaginable power. He opened his hand and looked upon it, seeing the flickering light of Ash’s flaming cloak reflected on its silvery surface. He picked it up and slowly turned his right hand over, spreading his quivering fingers as wide as he could. His hands were shaking and he had to bite at his lip in concentration, but with the greatest of care, he managed to thread an outstretched finger into its centre and he felt its coolness sliding against his skin. He pushed the glimmering ring firmly up to his last knuckle and then he opened himself to whatever lay waiting there within.

  A lone figure found himself hanging high in the air, far above a vast stormy ocean of magic. Almost at once, he began plummeting down. Faster and faster the person fell, rushing towards the roaring waters, accelerating at an incredible rate and without limit. He smashed into the freezing seas and pierced deep beneath the tumultuous surface, crushed on all sides by the cold and heaving power. The strength of the magic all around him squeezed the air from his lungs and pushed the blood from his palpitating heart-making his thoughts formless and nonsensical.

  He paled before the incredible strength the relic kept pushing into him and he struggled to keep it all from washing over him and smothering him, as it had done with Ash. I
ts weight was incredible and it pushed in at him from every side, trying to force its way inside him, trying to invade every particle of his existence.

  Then, something wonderful happened-an epiphany of sorts-as if some divine presence, in one sweeping gesture of its arms, had parted all the pain and anguish and confusion that now surrounded him and everything he had ever sensed or learned or experienced then coalesced into an atomic mote of clarity, and from this single fleeting point of omniscience, sprang a simple train of thought:

  Magic is a strange and wonderful thing. When pressed to describe or define magic, most Masters have a different opinion. Master Sanctus had expressed it as simply a form of energy, while Master Glim called it ‘the manifestation of the will’. Others believed it was the essence of our spirit and some even said it was a gift of the gods. Of all the opinions he had heard, Samuel now recalled what his friend Lomar had once told him and, strangely, he could recollect the man’s words precisely, as if reliving that very moment in time. He could almost feel the great branches of the oak tree from the School of Magic reaching up above them, lending them both its shade.

  This is what he said: ‘Magic is a rare and beautiful talent that some of us are lucky enough to possess. Try not to think of magic as something that is, but rather as something that can be achieved. On any fine morning, a person may choose to do some chores, or cut some wood, or write a poem, or paint a picture. They can even choose to sit and do nothing. Such is magic. It is not something you can see and say “Look! There is some magic!” but rather something you can experience and say “Behold! What a wonderful thing it is that magic has done!”’

  It was pointless attempting to resist such rampant power as Samuel found in the ring. To do so would have corrupted him and blasted his mind and body. Instead, he relaxed and let the force all around fall in upon him. He welcomed it and joined it, letting it push him all about with its currents, washing over him and within him at the same time. He became one with that ocean of power, a sea of no bounds or dimension, a sea that filled everywhere and everything, until there was no sea and there was no him, there was only nothing.

  Samuel opened his eyes, finding himself still standing upon the stormy tower top, with Ash still standing opposite him, the Staff of Elders poised in his hand. The entire experience within the magical folds of the ring seemed to have taken forever but, in reality, barely a heartbeat had passed. Indeed, if it had taken any longer at all Samuel may have been too late, for it was at that very moment that Ash struck out, sending a white-hot stream of power erupting from his staff.

  What happened next seemed to occur so slowly, as if the time-thickening properties from within the Argum Stone had followed out after Samuel and enshrouded him. Each instant in time was enough for him to see every minute detail in every tiny thing around him.

  Sparks and mage-fire flickered from all over Ash’s body, bursting from his skin, from the black holes of his eyes and from his wretched gaping mouth, as the beam slowly, slowly burned its way towards Samuel.

  The Elder Staff was certainly powerful, but Ash was no magician. He was a being-no longer even a man-attempting to guide powers he could not begin to understand, while Samuel was now a perfect nexus of magic.

  Magic erupted from Samuel’s outstretched hand and met Ash’s beam, throwing out squealing sparks in all directions. Ash staggered back, but Samuel stood calmly as their powers met; he now clearly understood the nature of magic-for it filled his every pore-and he knew that Ash had lost. The energy around the man was still vast and intense by normal standards, but a black greasy rim now encased it, like a rot that signalled his inevitable demise.

  ‘Ash,’ Samuel said. ‘You wanted to be a god, but you are only a child playing with grown-up’s things. At another time, I would tell you of all your follies, but time is short and I am beyond tired. You have done many foul things to me and to countless others, so it is time you received due punishment for all that you have done. Damn you, Ash. Damn you for bringing me to this place.’

  Samuel pushed his power along the path of Ash’s beam, filling its intense, pure white with twisting streaks of gold and blue and red. Ash held his staff desperately with both hands, with terror building on his ruined face. The streaks carried up the beam until they met the Staff in Ash’s shaking grip and there was a blinding flash of magic being un-made. The Staff of Elders, ancient icon of the Order of Magicians, screeched and turned to dust and spilled out through Ash’s clutching fingers. Indescribable horror covered his face and he turned to run on wooden legs. His hands were clutched over his face and he was screaming and sobbing as he blindly ran away. Without a source of magic to sustain him, there was nothing to hold Ash’s desiccated form together. An awful howl emanated from his throat as he continued running out over the tower’s edge and toppled down into space. Dust and glowing embers trailed behind him as he tumbled towards the waiting earth below.

  Samuel looked down after Ash and readied a spell to send after the man-a final blow to finish him should some miracle happen to save him but, as Ash fell, his howls became hollow and empty, fading to nothing as his body disintegrated into ashes and was blown away by the wind. At last, there was nothing left to strike the earth but a few scraps of fluttering, black cloth.

  Samuel stepped back from the tower’s shattered edge. He could feel the final remnants of energy balancing out around him as the flows and weaves in the air all around settled back into near equilibrium. He looked up, for the first time feeling the cold night air, and could see the clouds already thinning above him, with tiny bolts still flashing reluctantly in their depths. The wind had dropped to a soft breeze, carrying the salty scent of the Euclidean Sea.

  He looked at the small, silver ring on his finger, smooth and gleaming. With the Staff of Elders destroyed, this was now the only great relic in the world. He could feel the magic within it almost humming, waiting to be released. He had certainly not expected the Staff to be destroyed, but it seemed the power of the Argum Stone had greatly overwhelmed it. Dragging the ring from his finger and tucking it into a smouldering pocket, Samuel staggered to the large, heavy trapdoor on the tower roof, raised it and fell through.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Above the World

  Samuel found the tower now completely deserted as he staggered down its many stairs. His body had been almost ruined, but the power he had found within the Argum Stone had supplanted it, somehow sustaining him when he should have been destroyed. Even the wound that had pierced his abdomen seemed to have healed almost completely. The power he had touched had been incredible. It was no wonder that Ash had been overcome by the force of the Elder Staff. It seemed that the moment Ash had reached into that vast source of power, it had changed him, smothered him completely. In mind and body he had no longer been a man, but something else-something horrible, something craving only more and more power. It had overwhelmed him. Ash’s lack of understanding had been his downfall, just as much as Samuel’s depth of understanding of it had been his salvation.

  Samuel passed down several levels and, with each, his legs became heavier and heavier as if slowly turning to stone. He passed the Argum Stone chamber, where the doorway still smouldered, broken and twisted in place. Floor by floor he descended the mighty tower, until he heard someone coming up tentatively from below.

  ‘Samuel?’ came a cry and Lomar appeared, rushing up the stairs at the sight of him. ‘You’re alive!’

  ‘Yes,’ Samuel replied, utterly exhausted.

  ‘Everyone fled the tower. We thought the whole thing was going to come down.’ Lomar came to Samuel’s side and held him by the arm, supporting him.

  Samuel nodded. ‘What happened with you and the others?’

  ‘Lord Hathen proved to be the weakest link. He tried to escape from the Magicians’ Game. His weaves collapsed and the game fell in upon him. He, Lord Irshank and the other magicians were all killed. Master Glim and Master Sanctus tried their best to limit the damage, but I’m afraid the palace is in despe
rate need of some reconstruction now. Half the city’s engineers are there right at this moment. The other half are trying to decide if the tower will stay up or not-so we should probably hurry along.’

  Samuel nodded distantly. ‘Ah…I see.’

  ‘What of the Staff? And the Argum Stone?’ Lomar asked with interest.

  ‘Destroyed,’ Samuel said. ‘I managed to get the Argum Stone from Ash and I used it against him. In the end, they destroyed each other.’

  Lomar nodded thoughtfully. ‘Then the legacy of the Ancients did, indeed, prove itself.’

  Samuel nodded numbly and they started back down the winding tower stairs.

  Samuel could feel the Argum Stone jiggling in his pocket, but he did not wish anyone to know about it. If anyone were to find out, the Order would certainly confiscate the relic for their own purposes. After this latest experience, he still did not trust any of them.

  They made their way down the many steps, with Samuel using the shoulder of his friend for support. The feeling in his body was returning, like jagged glass thrust into his joints, and the pain would not be dulled as it slid beneath his skin.

  They finally made ground level and staggered out into the palace grounds, where crowds of people had gathered by torch-light and mage-light. Samuel could see that Lomar had not been exaggerating, for there was a great hole in the side of the palace beside the High Tower and a pile of broken rubble lay sprawled out beneath it. Magicians were busy casting spells onto the tower while soldiers and engineers were propping great beams against the palace to keep the remaining walls supported. General Ruardin’s booming voice could be heard shouting out orders and instructions.