Looming Shadow
Journey to Chaos Book 2
by
Brian Wilkerson
Published 2014 by Brian Wilkerson
Copyright filed: 2014
First draft completed: 2010
First Edition
Map Design and Illustration: Brenna Albert
Editing and Formatting: BZ Hercules
Cover Design and Illustration: LLPIX Photography
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act Of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or Transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or Retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the Publisher(I.E. the author).
If you’re going to pirate this anyway, how about a review or some fanwork to show your appreciation?
Dedication
To my beta readers, Dan Wright, Daniel Stahel Christansen, and Elizabeth Einspanier. Thank you for your time and critique. (By the way, Dan and Elizabeth are fantasy authors like me.)
To my Mom and Dad, who had to read through the ugliest draft and tell me (nicely) that it was ugly.
To all the readers of A Mage’s Power, thank you for waiting.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1 I Can't Help
Chapter 2 Not Quite Home
Chapter 3 Danger in the Skies
Chapter 4 Trouble at Home
Chapter 5 Reunion
Chapter 6 A New Dawn for Roalt
Chapter 7 A Trickster's Fun
Chapter 8 Heritage
Chapter 9 The Mage That Lives in The Land of No Magic
Chapter 10 Journey to the Lair
Chapter 11 Enlightenment
Chapter 12 The Chains of Discipleship
Chapter 13 Transformation in the Mountain of Fog
Chapter 14 The Underworld of the Abyss
Chapter 15 Transformation
Chapter 16 Return To Me
Chapter 17 Rebirth
Epilogue
Journey to Chaos Book 3: Mana Mutation Menace
Chapter 1 I Can't Help
Morty Smith was at the crossroads of destiny. Bases loaded, bottom of the ninth, two outs; all he needed was one more strike and his team would win. His future would be secure. If he failed, and this last runner scored, his team would lose and his future would be gone. Sweat ran down his forehead and into his eyes. It soaked his hands.
Please let me make this pitch!
A figure appeared behind him. With long, golden-brown hair, a majestic yet mischievous face, a full body cloak, and pointed ears, he was an odd fellow, to be sure. He whispered in the pitcher's ear.
“I know this is a big moment for you, but don't think about that. Relax. Focus only on the strike zone. Get ready.” Morty wound up.” Set!” Morty took aim. “Throw!”
“Strike three! You're out!”
The crowd erupted in cheers and Morty's teammates dogpiled him. As if he was a conquering hero, they lifted him up on their shoulders and he screamed his joy to the sky.
The one with pointy ears smiled and bowed. “My work here is done.”
“Not yet, Tasio!”
The creature spun around to see an old friend – a man in his early twenties with red hair. This man worked for a commercial energy company and so Tasio was surprised to see him wearing a baseball uniform. He was more used to the staff the man carried. It was about five and a half feet tall, made of dark oak, smattered with intricate designs, and topped by a crystal arrowhead.
“Eric, you startled me.”
“No, I didn't,” Eric said. “You were expecting me.”
“Actually, I was expecting you at that wedding last week. You know, the one where I helped the bride and groom get over their cold feet.”
“What did you do?” Eric asked bitingly. “Toss them into an alternate timeline where they did back out and they found out how miserable they'd be?”
“Of course not!” Tasio said. “That would be ridiculous.”
“Enough small talk!” Eric growled. “You know why I'm here.”
Tasio pouted. “But I like small talk. You never visit, you never call –”
“I've been trying to find you for three months now.”
“Really? Has it been that long? How've you been?”
“Just a chronic parched throat, food turns to ashes in my mouth, and I feel like I'm suffocating!”
“Mana-thirst,” Tasio said, nodding. “You seem to be taking it well.” Eric tried to impale him. Tasio's torso bent around the crystal. “Or not.”
“It's your fault I'm stuck here!”
Eric jabbed repeatedly and hit nothing but air. The Trickster ducked, bent, and swerved around every strike. They would have attracted a crowd if anyone were paying attention to them. As it was, they were too focused on Morty Smith, the nascent star. In any case, Tasio was invisible when he chose to be and, without him, Eric appeared to be nothing more than a bō staff enthusiast. When at last Eric stopped attacking, he plunged the crystal into the ground and leaned on it.
“Tasio, I need your help. I can't open a portal without chaos magic. Please help me.”
“I'm sorry, Eric, but there's nothing I can do. You have a profitable job, a nice girlfriend, and a sea of self-confidence. I don't think you need help.”
Tasio snapped his fingers and vanished.
Eric pulled at his hair and banged his staff on the ground. Morty the Pitcher was on his way to a happily ever after, but Eric the Mage was a world away from his. He returned to the locker room in a deep funk.
After shedding his “borrowed” uniform, he put on his street clothes. On his way out, he released the guard from the illusion that he used to sneak in.
Luckily, the back seat of the bus was empty. It was a long way home and he didn't want to be disturbed. How could he NOT see that I need help!?
It was true that Eric had a job and a girlfriend, and had banished many of his personal demons. However, it wasn't the right job or the right girl, for that matter, and, as for personal demons, there were still enough to keep him up at night.
It was three months ago that a trickster spirit named Tasio appeared in his apartment; a pointy-eared spirit that claimed to exist solely to help people. Eric laughed at the memory. Tasio had indeed helped him build his self-confidence and find friends, but then he took it all away. Eric believed that to be his real trick.
It was three months ago that Tasio dropped him in a world called Tariatla, a strange place where magic was a common science. Anyone could use it if they practiced enough. It was there that Eric learned how to cast spells like the illusion, and the spell book he had acquired there taught him tracking spells like the one used to find Tasio. He'd perfected that one just this morning. When The Trickster dragged him back to his home world, the world he currently inhabited, he retained all his spells, but not the energy powering them.
Mana was the energy that fueled all magic. Tariatla had it in every atom of its soil, seas, and atmosphere and, in comparison, Threa was a dry well. Magic was more difficult here and mana harder to replace. Eric's own supply had dwindled to little more than nothing. Soon, it would be gone entirely and all his magical knowledge would be useless.
He walked into his apartment and dropped his special bag near the door. It was his “I'm going home” bag. It contained the data of an experiment he had been conducting, some souvenirs for his friends, and rolls of gold coins. People on T
ariatla didn't use paper money, so he converted as much of his income as possible into gold with the hope that Tasio would open another gate for him. If I can't have mana tonight... he thought as he opened the freezer...at least I can enjoy – Abyss take it!
“Oliver!” Eric shouted and pounded on his neighbor’s door. “Get out here!”
The door opened. “What's up, pal?”
“Did you eat my corn dogs?”
“What makes you say that?” Oliver asked, and took a bite out of a corn dog. Eric pointed to said breaded meat. “Oh...ah...This one's mine.” Eric scowled. “Fine!” Oliver pulled a handful of bills out of his pocket and gave them to Eric.
“No more corn dogs. Got it!?” Eric demanded.
Oliver shrugged and closed the door. Eric was tempted to cast something nasty, but that would waste what little power he had left. With a sigh, he left the apartment building.
He walked to the convenience store some blocks away and grabbed a box of corn dogs. Then, he stood in line and waited to pay the cashier. It was taking longer than it should have, which annoyed him, but since the cashier was being robbed, he decided to cut the guy a little slack. Now he's just being greedy... The guy with the gun demanded that everyone else empty his or her pockets.
“Hand it over, bitch!” the criminal yelled in Eric's face.
“May I please pay first?” Eric asked, gesturing to the corn dogs. “I have frozens.”
The criminal shoved his gun against Eric's forehead.
“Give me your wallet or I'll take your life instead!”
Eric sighed and looked straight into the eyes of the criminal. The punk's breath caught in his throat, his pupils dilated and stared unblinking, his entire body frozen in place.
“I said 'please’. I've had a really bad day,” the exiled mage continued. “I had to sit through a baseball game, my way home gave me the bird, my neighbor still mooches off me, and now he lies about it. The last thing I want is some punk making my corn dogs spoil. If you're going to rob someone, at least be polite about it and let them pay when they have frozens. I even said 'please'! I hope you will remember this next time, which, by the way, won't be for a while.”
Eric wrenched the guy's gun out of his hand, kneed him between the legs, and then pounded his head with a hammerfist. The criminal dropped like a stone.
“How the hell'd you do that!?” someone asked.
“Mind over matter,” Eric said with a shrug. “I saw someone do it once.” He pointed at the guy. “Now please find something to tie this guy up with, and you there, to his right, please call the police.”
“Such a polite young man,” another customer said.
The police arrived and took away the wanna-be criminal. They thanked Eric for his help but told him to let them handle it next time. Eric agreed – he only stepped in this time because he had frozens. With the roadblock removed, the line was free to move once more and Eric resumed his place in line. When he reached the counter, the cashier told him it was on the house.
“Thank you,” Eric said with a smile. “You just made my day.”
He spent the rest of the night eating his corn dogs and watching his favorite sitcom. Corn dogs were among his favorite foods before he had arrived at Tariatla. Now, back on Threa, their taste was bland. It was the same with all the foods he ate. In desperation, he turned to pure honey and drank a whole jar in one sitting. He promptly threw up and never did it again. Always full but never satisfied; he thought himself similar to a train eating the same tasteless coal every day. Food was only good as fuel to him now.
When the sitcom ended, Eric got ready for bed. He brushed his teeth, went to the bathroom, and did whatever else he could think of to delay going to bed. Nightfall was depressing. It meant another day had come and gone. It meant his body was getting weaker, starved of mana. It meant his chances of going home were slimmer. What he dreaded most of all was that he'd sleep and perchance to dream. Aye, there's the rub.
Eric woke up to the sound of wooden wheels on brick. Stirring in his bed, he shouted for Oliver to turn down the TV. The noise continued and Eric got out of bed, fully intending to give Oliver another piece of his mind, when he stopped. He wasn't looking at plaster whitewashed walls, but unpainted stone and support beams. Next to his bed was a crossbeam that also served as a mantle. Right in front of him was a door that looked more valuable than the rest of the house put together. Eric hardly dared breathe. This was his bridge house; he was back on Tariatla!
Could it be? Am I really home?
He walked cautiously through the room, as though the very reality of it were fragile enough to break. I don't remember any portal…It was all there, just as he remembered it. There was even the scorch mark where he had dropped a fireball. Tears fell from his eyes. He didn't bother wiping them away.
He heard a knock on the door and carefully answered. A girl with long, golden-brown hair and pointed ears stood in the doorway.
“Annala!” Eric cried happily. “How'd you know I was back?”
Annala smiled and said, “Ee! Ee! Ee!”
Eric jumped out of bed and stabbed his ringing alarm clock. The killer of all dreams died itself; a croaking, garbled death. Eric twisted the staff's crystal left and right to make sure it was dead. Then he fell back into his bed. His anger was spent. Only his sadness remained. He had been so sure he was back, finally home! Then, he had to wake up here....Biggest let-down of my life! For a moment, he was too depressed to move.
He thought he smelled waffles and butter. His heart leapt into his throat. Could it be him!? When he first met Tasio, The Trickster made him a large breakfast. It would be just like him to deny Eric help one day, tease him with a dream that night, and then show up unannounced the next day. Eric jumped out of bed and ran into the kitchen. His excitement fell as quickly as it rose. “Oliver! Get out of here!” he shouted at the moocher.
“Oh, come on, pal,” Oliver protested. “I don't have any waffles at my place.”
Eric rolled his eyes. “I wonder why. Those waffles are mine. Leave them alone!” Oliver looked at him pitifully, but Eric stood firm. He stood up dejectedly and walked out.
“Give me the butter,” Eric said and Oliver reluctantly did so. “And the syrup.” Oliver gave him the hot bottle. “And the banana.”
“Pal, you used to let me eat all I wanted.”
“No, you came in here and ate without asking,” Eric said. “I was tired of being taken advantage of. If you want waffles so badly, then go to the store and buy them yourself!” Oliver left and Eric sat down to enjoy the waffles – as best as he could anyway. If he used his imagination, he could almost taste the syrup. It was Saturday, so he took his time. Chewing was fun; he could still feel the bread and butter and syrup, even if he couldn’t taste them. After breakfast, he powered up his computer. It was time to continue Plan B.
If he couldn't find a way to a mana-rich world, then maybe he could make one here. On Threa, there was a paradox known as “The chicken or the egg?” On Tariatla, the same paradox was called “The mage or the mana?” Mages needed mana for their spells, but it was magecraft that drew mana to a world in the first place. It was like a straw and a juice box: The straw pulls up juice, but unless the drinker already has juice in himself or herself, they'll be too shriveled to use the straw. This was the analogy presented in the book he received from his magic mentor, Introduction to Magecraft.
The name Dengel Tymh was written just underneath the title. Eric couldn’t read it without scowling. Every time he glanced at the book, his heart filled with hatred. Thus, it happened many times a day, every day. He took a breath and returned to work.
The downside of Plan B was that it was likely to involve monsters. According to his studies, those things tended to sprout wherever magic was used in sufficient quantities. However, he was sure that decades would pass before the world was anywhere near saturated enough for that to happen and, in any case, they had a veteran mercenary willing and able to slay the monsters for them.
He laughed to himself while checking his website. He created it by transferring his spell book into a blog and forum for fans of “real world” magic. If enough people took him seriously, then maybe mana would come. Then his suffering would end and he could truly enjoy waffles and corn dogs again. It was a long shot, but he was willing to try anything.
Such an experiment would please me, a voice in his head said. It is both fascinating and immoral.
Eric shook his head to clear it. For the last month or so, he’d been hearing a voice that sounded suspiciously like Dengel himself. This was impossible because Eric was a world away from him and such a man would never follow him here. Thus, he considered it another symptom of mana thirst.
The site had mixed results. He got emails calling him a nerd and telling him that he needed to get a life. On the other hand, he got emails commending him for such a well-thought-out system, “even though it's fake.” Very few people said they’d tried it and all said it didn't work. Eric explained that only by carefully budgeting his mana was he able to create as much as a ball of light. He didn't tell them the book was from another world because that would have really driven them off. Then he would have to deal with nice men in white coats taking him to the nuthouse. There's only one nuthouse I need to be in and it’s my guild.
He looked through his guest book, answered serious emails, and added to the site's FAQ. This site was the highlight of his current life. Talking with others about magical theory was almost as good as being on Tariatla. Sometimes, the discussion was so engrossing, he forgot how thin the air felt.
“Hey, Eric.”
The exiled mage jumped out of his seat. Emily, his girlfriend, stood in the doorway of his apartment. Eric cursed himself silently. A debate on the website about magically applied time travel was so interesting that his finely tuned sense of awareness had dropped. Basilard would swear if he knew...
“You didn't answer, so I let myself in. You do remember we have a date today, right?” Eric looked at his computer's clock; the day had passed without his noticing. He cursed himself anew. His girlfriend had walked in wearing a cocktail dress and he was still in his pajamas.
Looming Shadow: Journey to Chaos book 2 Page 1