by Daniel White
Télia came to him with a mug of water from the kitchen and placed it in his hands.
“The look on your face tells me many of your thoughts,” she said, studying him. “Thoughts I am sure will take time to rationalise.”
“Rationalise? None of this has a place in the realm of the rational!” he exclaimed. “Wizards, or wielders, as they are called—I was so used to imagining them in stories of old and distant lands. I never imagined they were a part of my own life. Jon, my parents… me? I am one of them?” He stared blankly forward, shaking his head at every impossible notion.
Télia sat beside him and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Just remember that nothing Jon or I tell you changes who you are. I know that sounds foolish but it’s true. The whole ground doesn’t disappear beneath your feet. You are the same person you have always been. Only, there is more to your story. Everyone you know, including me now, is ever willing to find your head upon their shoulders. I am your aera, Aldrick. I remain here—at your side.”
Her words were kind and calming, though not nearly calming enough. Aldrick managed a faint smile of appreciation before his mind caved in to the weight of his thoughts once more.
“I will continue, if that is all right,” said Jon, who had been observing him mindfully. “I understand that what I have said is difficult to accept, Aldrick, I do, but there is much more that needs telling, and there is no better time than now, with food in our bellies and the rain falling outside, to tell it.”
Aldrick took a deep breath. “I’m listening.”
“Excellent! But wait… I have lost myself yet again.” Jon squinted down at the floor, stroking his beard. “Ah yes! You have the abilities your parents did! That is why Selayna wants you dead.” His eyes widened. “Oh, but no. Selayna is not the one who wants you dead. Oh no. No, no, no! She does the bidding of another.” He looked upon them gravely. “There is another who wishes your demise, one whom your parents knew well—Selayna’s brother. His name is Malath.”
Aldrick heard Télia gasp beside him. Cold radiated from her. There ensued a deathly silence in which only the faint flicker of flames and occasional crack of heated wood could be heard from the hearth.
“Malath is also a wielder?” Aldrick asked finally. “My parents knew him?”
“They did, only too well.” Jon waved his hand aggressively and the fire roared, brightening the room and vanquishing the chill in the air. Aldrick stared. “He was their friend—a valued member of the wielding community. Malath Jayther, the great and damned foolish!” Jon’s pacing quickened. Anger fuelled his steps. “Your parents trusted him with their lives, as anyone might have. No one had ever heard of such a distinguished wielder turning so foul. Arrogant—yes, but sour, bitter and resentful? No. No, Malath was one of a kind, a well-privileged idiot!” Jon halted and turned to Aldrick. “He led your parents to their doom.”
Aldrick swallowed. He had often wondered about his parents of late, but only now did he realise that hearing their story inevitably meant learning how they died.
“Tell me what happened,” he said.
Jon seated himself in an armchair by the fire.
“This all began many years ago,” he started. “Gilthred, Isobel and Malath were scholars of Delthendra—the wielder’s lyceum in Galdrem, a place Télia is familiar with I’m sure.” Télia nodded. “Well, that is where they came to know each other. They were each very wise and astute, but Malath was more powerful, as was he ambitious. As a young man the Synod adopted him and—”
“Wait… the Synod?”
“The Synod is an order of ‘highly esteemed’ wielders in Galdrem. I was once associated with them myself.”
Aldrick could tell Jon held no high opinion of them. “I see.”
“As I was saying, they adopted Malath and installed him as chancellor of Delthendra. This gave him great power and position over not only novice wielders, but humans alike.” Jon leaned forward. “You see, Aldrick, wielders once stood above humans. It is a common belief that our storm comprises half of our very being, but back then many claimed it to be the superior half.
“So, Malath being promoted to chancellor meant that he suddenly had command over a vast majority of the peoples in the land. He even held sway over the high council. They were advised to follow his guidance on all matters of social and political discourse. The system was egregiously flawed. All the time though, it was the elder wielders of the Synod who pulled Malath’s strings.
“In following years they became more accepting of humans’ rightful place as equals among them. They sought a democratic society, a peaceful one. But as much as their arrogance lessened, Malath’s grew. He feared that these new ways of thinking would threaten his position as chancellor. Resentment grew in him, a dark fire that could not be doused. Madness took hold. Members of the Synod began to disappear inexplicably. Common folk were found dead in the streets, murdered by storm.
“Your parents soon realised that Malath was responsible for this, along with Selayna and his ever faithful, brainwashed scholars. Though it was hard for them to accept, he had become an unspeakable force of evil. Like themselves, he possessed a unique ability no other wielder did. He could defy death, manipulate it… reverse it. He threatened to use this to ‘cleanse’ the Narathlands of the filth of humanity.
“He planned to venture to Darkna—a hallowed temple of old which stands at the edge of the legendary Vuldenfar Chasm. There, a great power exists that would greatly strengthen his storm, allowing him to resurrect an entire army of ancient warriors from the Life Afterwards to carry out his murderous intent.
“Your parents knew they needed to act, but knew also that it would be futile to confront Malath on a level battleground. In his madness, his powers had been rendered ever stronger than before. Their options were few.”
Jon raised a finger. “But, as fortune might have it, some months earlier Gilthred had stumbled across an invaluable object while on a scholarly expedition in the west—a peculiar stone, one with a profound attribute. It could hold storm within it. They discovered this when Isobel practised her sapping ability on Gilthred while holding the stone in hand. Typically, his storm would soon have returned to him, but this time it did not. It had been absorbed into the stone. For days they tried to retrieve it, but to no avail. The stone was of the hardest material known to them and could not be penetrated.
“For a time they attempted to conceal the fact that Gilthred’s storm was lost to him, but inevitably this was exposed, though no one was able to offer a plausible explanation nor a solution. Not even the eldest and wisest of the Synod could unravel the stone’s mystery.
“While it had caused them such inconvenience, its power gave your parents an idea—perhaps it could be used to entrap Malath’s storm. This was the only way to permanently remove him as a threat to the Narathlands and punish him for his blind self-righteousness. They confronted him at Darkna. I was there—one of the wielders delegated to safeguard the temple at the time, and the power held within.
“Words would not sway Malath from his intentions so Isobel did indeed drain his storm into the stone. While doing so, Gilthred and I shielded her from his followers. We defeated many, Selayna included, but your father, being without power, was overwhelmed.” Jon eyed Aldrick sorrowfully. “Your father died fighting for the people of the Narathlands, Aldrick. He gave everything.”
The room was silent. Aldrick couldn’t speak. The world had fallen away around him.
“Isobel had successfully taken Malath’s storm,” Jon continued. “This terrified his followers, so they fled, whisking him away with them. It was the last time anyone saw any of them. Without Malath’s power or position they were no longer seen as a threat to Galdrem. The Synod was confident that they would not return.
“Even so, there lingered the risk of a revenge attack on Isobel. She needed security but refused to stay in Galdrem. The loss of Gilthred had broken her. Only recently had she found out she was pregnant with you, Aldrick. She left the city
and travelled south, to here, where she built a home for herself.” Jon looked around. Tears glistened in his eyes. “She loved it here, Aldrick. This is where you were born.”
Aldrick found tears in his own eyes. He wiped them away.
Jon rested his back against the chair and closed his eyes for a time before going on.
“An appointed aera and I had followed your mother here to watch over her, but she did not allow us to stay so we moved to Farguard. In time, the aera returned to Galdrem. I remained, wary that she might one day need my protection…
Jon swallowed heavily. “It was in the winter. You were a newborn. I had come here with supplies for her. When I arrived the house was ablaze. She was inside. I doused the flames and pulled her from it but… I was too late. She was…” Jon took a moment.
“I thought all had been lost that day Aldrick, but it wasn’t. With the raging noise now subsided, I heard your cry from within the trees. Your mother had hidden you there, tucked in a blanket. You were safe. I am uncertain if those who came for her were aware you existed. I knew then that you must be protected. It was my responsibility. The only way to be sure you were safe was to see that your identity remained a secret. You couldn’t be known by your father’s name, Aedimon, nor could you stay with me. I took you to Rain, a village with no prior connection to you or your parents. Braem and Phelvara adopted you there. I remained here and rebuilt your mother’s house, to preserve her memory. But I could never quite let it go, Aldrick. That is why I would visit you as you grew up. Being such lovely people, Braem and Phelvara said that I was always welcome. Eventually I told them everything but made them swear never to tell you, only to come to me if I was ever needed… and here we are today.”
Aldrick lifted his eyes from the floor. Everything was out of focus and glistening. He felt sick and heavy. Above all other thoughts and questions, imagery of Gilthred and Isobel—his parents—flooded his mind. Both murdered, his mother in this very home. Slowly an emotion he was unfamiliar with began to seep through him. So much had been stolen from him! He rose and left the room.
Solitude found him outside. He stood a short distance from the house among the tussocks, fists clenched and head raised to the skies. Rain quietly fell upon him. Around him the mountains cowered, hiding their heads in the clouds. He let out a cry of rage and lightning erupted around him. Simultaneously thunder roared, ricocheted off the mountains and made the ground tremble beneath his feet.
6
TRAINING
Aldrick closed the door quietly behind him. He felt much calmer now. Jon and Télia were standing together in silence. The loose ends of a smile lingered on Jon’s face. Télia’s was a tone lighter than usual. He walked past them and seated himself by the fire.
“Frightful weather outside, is it not?” Jon asked.
“It is.”
“Your father’s storm surges within you, Aldrick”
Aldrick looked up. “Hold on… are you saying… I did that? I made the thunder and lightning?”
“You surely did. None of those clouds out there are storm clouds. That was of your own making.”
“But… but how? How is it that my father, my mother and Malath all had these abilities that other wielders don’t?”
“An intuitive question,” Jon said, raising a finger. “It is perhaps what brought them together at a young age—their uniqueness. It occurs in those who have survived great peril in their lives, who have persevered through immeasurable odds. In doing so they inherit the ability to control whatever it was that threatened their survival. As I recall, your father came to the Narathlands from a neighbouring realm. On his journey he was caught in a ferocious storm at sea, the likes of which few have ever witnessed. The vessel carrying him was destroyed but the tide carried him ashore. It was soon after he awoke that he discovered he possessed the heightened ability to manipulate the weather.
“Your mother, well, she never talked about it much, but when she was young, on an expedition into the western lands, she was captured by a wielder savage who held her captive and tortured her. This was until a group of aeras tracked her down and rescued her. From then on she was able to take another wielder’s storm, so as never to be harmed again…”
“And Malath?”
“Malath.” Jon scowled. “I understand he drowned when swimming as a child. Had he not been revived by a stranger he would have remained in the Life Afterwards. Unfortunately for us though, he gained the ability to sway death itself and went on to become the monster he is.”
“So he has evaded his own death twice now. He was left standing at Darkna? Even after being rendered powerless?”
“Yes. He was your parents’ friend, Aldrick. They never wanted to take his life. Besides, back then the act of one wielder killing another was a crime worse than murder. It was those very events—the treason of Malath, Selayna and their followers—that finally saw the abandonment of that law. Only then was it realised how truly far a noble wielder could descend into madness and that only wielders themselves could defend the people, should it happen again.”
“And now, Malath has learnt of my existence and wants me dead… because I am the only one who can kill him, because I was born with my mother’s ability.”
“Well, yes, Aldrick. It is unclear to me how any other wielder might best him without such a rare advantage. His powers are too great.”
“I don’t understand how this has come to be, though. How does Malath have his storm again, after losing it to the stone?”
Jon heaved a sigh. “I cannot say. I became aware of this only when Braem told me of the brand on the ka-zchen that attacked you—Selayna’s brand. Only Malath could have returned her from death and only she could have breathed new life into it. It is the sole explanation I am afraid.” He rested an elbow on his knee and stroked his silvery beard broodingly. His demeanour was that of someone who was deeply troubled, who knew dark things were ahead.
“If Malath is all powerful again, that’s perfect. I will see he is finished with, for good this time, and whoever chooses to follow him.”
Jon’s eyes lifted. “You would seek vengeance, Aldrick? I did not expect it of you. All these years you have been oblivious to so much yet now, when truths come to light, you act as if it all happened yesterday.”
Suddenly fresh waves of anger and resentment swept through Aldrick. “You! Why did you never seek revenge for my parents’ murders? Were you afraid? I thought wielders were supposed to be noble, courageous!”
Every morsel of Jon’s face became a frown. “It would have changed nothing, Aldrick. I let it go because of you—so you could have a life free of all this, and so I could be there for you if you ever needed me. I hoped you never would. Clearly it was not meant to be so.”
Aldrick looked down at his feet, realising he had crossed a line he shouldn’t have.
There was an uncomfortable silence until finally Télia spoke.
“Tea, anyone?” she asked politely.
“Yes please,” he and Jon replied as one.
He knew he ought to apologise. “Jon, I’m—”
“It’s all right, my boy,” Jon said heartily, casting negativity aside. His frown had disappeared. “You are taking all this much better than could be expected. Learning of your parents’ fate and that you are a wielder, well… I can’t quite imagine.”
“Well, the wielder part isn’t so bad.”
Jon chuckled. “Just you wait, my boy.”
It was late now. They arranged seating in an arc around the fire and sat in silence, staring into the nonchalant flames. Télia’s brew of tea was the best Aldrick had tasted—strong and bitter, with the aroma of a spring meadow lingering somewhere in the background. As he drank he felt strange. Accepting all that Jon had told him now came with ease, though much of it remained foreign to him. He was in uncharted waters and did not know the ropes.
Télia sat close at Aldrick’s side. She was without tea and appeared anxious. He imagined she feared for her family and homeland.
He wanted her to somehow be at peace.
“It’s all right,” he said, nudging her softly. “Everything will be. I’m going to make sure of it.”
She nodded and offered up an unconvincing smile.
Jon was eying Aldrick with a faint smile of his own. “You are indeed your parents’ son. They would be very proud.”
“Surely the Synod is aware of Malath’s return,” said Télia, now voicing her qualms. “That is why I was repurposed to protect Aldrick. I was sent word on my journey here to do so without hesitation.”
Jon sipped his tea. “Oh, I am quite certain they are well aware. Malath was always one to flaunt his power. He has probably paraded himself through the streets of Galdrem.”
“But he can’t be left free to continue his old plans!” cried Télia. “I grew up in fear of him, even as a powerless outcast. What he intended to do—slay humanity—that’s unthinkable! Would the Synod stand idle and see that happen?!”
“Let us hope not. They were wise enough to presume Aldrick would become a target.”
“And what of the Shard of Heart’s Storm? Is it adequately guarded?”
“After Malath’s first attempt to gain access to it nearly succeeded—the attempt Aldrick’s parents foiled—the holding chamber was sealed with the most powerful of warding enchantments, one not even he can break.”
“The Shard of Heart’s Storm. That is the great power in the temple you mentioned earlier?” Aldrick asked, feeling increasingly distanced from the span of his knowledge.
Jon nodded. “Yes, in the Temple Darkna. You see, it is a common belief among wielders that our storm originates from the heart of the world. Some wielders believe it religiously so. The Shard is a piece of that heart. It was found deep in a mine over a thousand years ago; the only piece ever unearthed.”