Seb frowned. Silas? What did he know about the Weave? He kept his head low, eyes on the ground. A question for Cade stored away for later.
‘Regardless of the source, I am grateful for your assistance.’
‘Quite. Well between you there doesn’t seem to be much progress being made, so perhaps it is right we try something more unorthodox.’
If Caleb felt aggrieved by the subtle barb he didn’t show it. Perhaps it was just the Magister’s way of talking? He had no idea, but it made sense to follow suit. The Magister was not one to be trifled with.
‘Well, then, Seb. I hear you have been struggling to learn the basics of Weave mastery?’
The Magister’s eyes bore into him, it took all his willpower to hold her gaze.
‘Speak, boy!’ Caleb hissed.
‘Yes, Magister. It started well but just petered out.’
‘Indeed. No doubt a side effect of your prolonged exposure to the Consensus.’
The silence hung in the air for a moment. A quiet buzzing filled his mind, whether it was from the Magister or the stone he couldn’t tell. Abruptly the sensation vanished. The Magister nodded to herself.
‘Well then. Let us not tarry. Come, sit here.’ The Magister motioned towards a series of plain mats that surrounded the Spoke Stone like petals around a flower. Seb obeyed, dropping to a kneeling position facing the Stone. Caleb sat next to him.
‘You will have heard of the apostate, Marek?’
‘I have, Magister.’
‘Good. I would not normally have agreed to Weave-walk this early in one’s training, but we believe that the increase in sheol activity is due to the apostate and whatever his overall aim is. We have reasonable intelligence to support the assumption that whatever Sarah took, she did so to prevent it falling into Marek’s hands.
‘Now, he does not know that the secret he sought survived Sarah’s death and lives in you, which is fortunate. However his failure has made him increasingly desperate. He seeks something, and we must find out what it is.’
‘You think what I have in my head is tied to the sheol activity?’
‘I am growing increasingly certain of it. We know that Sarah took something that he wanted. It was blind luck that she found you when she did, allowing her to pass on what she’d uncovered.’
‘I wish I knew what it was.’
‘We will find out. In time. You just need a helping hand to get there.’
The Magister adopted a meditating position. Her hands dropped, resting on her knees, palms facing upwards.
‘Join me, Seb. I will assist you in connecting to the Weave. The proximity to the Stone will provide you the boost that is required to connect.’
Seb glanced at Caleb. The old man nodded. Seb adopted the position he’d done so many times before, the one which previously had been a source of excitement, only to become one of frustration in recent weeks. He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath.
The connection came instantly. Amplified by the Spoke Stone his sense exploded to life, the auras of the Magister and Caleb appearing as infernos of blue fire in the darkness.
‘We are going on a journey Seb. This is called a Weave-walk, a journey undertaken by your astral self. The walk will take us into the River, the Weave in its natural form. Do you understand?’
‘I think so,’ he said. His voice came to him from far away, as if spoken by someone else.
‘The journey will not be long, merely minutes. But it will expose you directly to the Weave. Much more so than the methods you have been using previously. If successful, it will overcome the barriers you currently face, allowing you to proceed with your training.’
‘Is it dangerous?’
‘I will not lie. Acolytes undertake a single Weave-walk when they are completing their final Novo trials. It is only then that they have the sufficient skills and knowledge to avoid being absorbed into the Weave, and even then they are escorted by two elites in the process.
A sick feeling hit his stomach. ‘That can happen? I can be absorbed into the Weave?’
‘We are all Weave-stuff, Seb. Ultimately that’s where we all return. But yet, if one isn’t sufficiently prepared then their pattern, their soul, can be simply absorbed into the Weave, their body being left behind. An empty shell.’
‘That doesn’t sound too great.’
‘I will be with you at all times. Just follow my instructions and all will be well. Now, are you ready?’
Seb nodded. It dawned on him that the Magister couldn’t see the action. ‘Yes, Magister.’
‘As I said, the stone before you is what is known as a Spoke Stone. It is attuned to the currents and eddies of the Great River. It acts as a focal point for the Weave, allowing us to draw much greater energies from it.’
‘Like the foci stone?’
‘Excellent. Exactly like that. This stone is one of several of this type. There are several all over the world, all held and protected by the different mage families. They are interconnected – each spoke part of an overall hub. Together they harness the power of the Consensus, and all connect to the Nexus, the focal point of all mage energy on this realm.’
‘I’ve never heard this before.’
‘You won’t have. This came after the crossing. The first magi took fragments from the Forge, the only parts of the Weave that exist in physical form. The fragments, the Spoke Stones, acted as insurance to prevent the magi being disconnected from the Weave forever.’
Seb frowned. ‘I thought that was why Danu insisted on the creation of the Consensus? So that the Weave couldn’t be corrupted and misused?’
The tone in the Magister’s voice shifted. ‘That is correct. To a point. However this did not mean he would send his flock to this alien realm with no means of survival. What is a mage without the Weave?’
‘A human?’
‘Nothing. They are nothing, Seb. They had to survive on this realm. Who knew what horrors lurked here, or if the sheol would ever return. The Spoke Stones serve as that anchor. They unite the magi here together, and ensure that we retain control of the Weave.’
Seb didn’t say anything, but the words didn’t sit well. Wasn’t part of Danu’s covenant to ensure that the Weave couldn’t be misused again? That another Shard War could not occur? Who was he though to challenge what went before? He wasn’t there. He hadn’t been through what they had.
‘We have discussed enough. Caleb, are you ready?’
Seb had forgotten he was even there. He looked across. The old man was sat in the same position he was.
‘Yes, Magister.’
‘Then we travel.’
It came at once. A low rumble. The room faded to black. His feet felt funny, light almost. He dared to look down – shit – he was floating! His body lay beneath him, slumped over. Christ, he needed a shave. And a haircut. The Magister sat beside him. Caleb on the other.
He continued to rise, the scene below vanishing to darkness as he ascended into the recess above. He accelerated, and for a moment he thought he’d crash straight into the ceiling. Then he was free, the roof passing by in a stomach-churning blur of knotted wood and stone.
He couldn’t put it into words. Years later, when asked, he still wouldn’t be able to articulate fully the sensation of flying for the first time. The sensation of freedom. Of fear. The world dwindled beneath him, the mansion becoming a grey spec amongst irregular shapes of green and brown. The earth became a dot surrounded by dark. Pin pricks of light twinkled against a midnight canvas. The stars drew together, dots stretching to lines that converged together into an endless tunnel of light. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once.
Do not fear, Seb. We are here.
He looked across. The Magister was there. She no longer resembled her physical form and instead appeared as a shimmering, crackling form of blue lightning. The avatar was vaguely humanoid, two glowing white eyes stared back at him from the entity. Glancing to the other side he saw Caleb, his Weave-form slightly less luminous than t
he Magister, his tone a muted marine rather than the crackling blue of their master, but the aura was definitely Caleb, moodiness and all.
This is amazing. He pulsed, not knowing how, the knowledge coming to him on instinct.
It is the Weave, in pure form. We all come from this. Everything is formed from this. It is the one energy. The foundation of reality.
They zoomed down the tunnel. He became aware then of something tugging at him like a breeze, just nudging at first, before the touch became more pronounced. His direction changed, his bearing unknown but different from the others.
Seb! Where are you going? Do not leave us! The Magister’s voice rang with alarm.
I don’t know! I’m not doing it!
Caleb – stop him!
Yes, Magister!
Caleb turned and drifted towards him, but whatever had hold of him had other intentions. The distance between them grew. Seb stretched out to Caleb but the old man’s avatar diminished further.
Caleb!
He had no form here, no heart, lungs or brain, but the sensation of fear was still very real. The coldness gripped him, an awareness of the distance growing between him and his only links back to his physical form. He was drifting away, dissolving into the Weave itself.
A bright light flashed. Caleb and the Magister vanished and he was instantly out of the tunnel. He glided now over an endless expanse of barren ground the colour of rust. Behind him a swirling vortex of lightning twisted inwards, the hole from which he’d emerged already a tiny glowing disk that reduced with every passing heartbeat.
Ahead, the horizon terminated in a ragged line of jet-black mountains. Plumes of cloud, grey, like floating stone bergs covered the peaks. Rivers of red trailed down the sides, splitting into narrower channels like the exposed veins of some sleeping beast. Below him the rivers widened into vast lakes of bubbling lava. The air smelled of sulphur and his eyes stung from the brittle breeze.
He didn’t notice the tower at first; such was its similarity to the mountains from which it was obviously carved. It loomed out of the cloud, a vague form, coalescing into a jagged structure of wicked edges that pointed at the sky like a finger inside a mail gauntlet. He slowed now, the wind receding to such a degree that he no longer had to squint into the gales of biting dust.
The tower was vast. He hovered near the top, where a huge archway opened out onto a massive stone platform that jutted out into the sky like a landing pad. Down below, the base of the tower vanished out of sight, swallowed by a combination of distance and cloud. Dotted throughout the structure were small apertures. Most were dark, but some glowed with an inner light. A hollow feeling filled his stomach as he descended towards the platform. What the hell was this place?
He alighted onto the platform. The stone, a smooth mineral flecked with white specks, felt cool underfoot. A sudden thought popped into his mind then – if he could feel in this place, then could he be harmed? Could he die? A gust of wind made him wobble. He dropped to his knees, just metres from the edge of the platform. His heart – was it his heart - rattled in his chest.
A grumbling sound drew his attention to the far end of the hall. A thin sliver of light appeared as two heavy, impossibly thick doors of obsidian opened inwards. A silhouette filled the door, a tall shape that now drifted towards him.
Seb scrabbled on hands and feet away from the edge of the platform, the panic only subsiding when he felt the safety of walls around him. He crouched, panting, clinging to the smooth stone for dear life.
‘You’re here earlier than I thought.’ The voice was gentle, almost a whisper. A shadow covered the ground around him.
Seb forced himself to look up, fighting an almost overwhelming fear that seemed to ooze from the shade that covered him. He stifled a cry when he saw the serpentine face looking down. Unblinking eyes, orbs of pure crimson, sat on either side of a red-scaled head, stared at him.
‘Who are you?’ he heard himself say.
The creature’s mouth curled into what he assumed was a smile, but the display of dagger-like teeth sent a shiver of fear down his back.
‘You don’t remember me? Well I suppose that’s not a surprise. Let me look at you.’
The creature squatted, burnished armour creaking as it lowered itself to his eye level. He tried to raise his mental shield as he’d been shown, but the barrier was swatted away as if it were nothing more than an annoying insect.
‘Your skills have improved I can see, but you’re not ready. Far from ready.’
‘Who are you?’ he said again, his voice firmer this time as the creature stood and walked past him, stopping at the very edge of the platform. Seb struggled to his feet and forced himself to turn back into the biting wind.
‘Not yet. Not yet. You can’t know that yet,’ the creature turned, Seb almost collapsed as a powerful sensing crashed into him. It made even the Magister’s powers seem feeble in comparison.
‘The pattern is locked deep. And it’s bound to your soul. No one but you can retrieve it.’
‘That’s what they tell me. But I can’t do it. I can’t use this damned Weave. It’s beyond me!’
‘Oh, I don’t know. You found your way here didn’t you?’ The creature said, a hint of amusement creeping into its voice.
‘That wasn’t me. That was the Magister.’
‘An unworthy title if ever I heard one.’
The creature stepped towards him, the gaze unrelenting. Seb gritted his teeth and squeezed every ounce of energy into his limbs, forcing himself to stand.
‘The Magistry. The warriors of Danu. Once it meant something, when they had abilities worth talking about. You know there was once a time when the magi had the power to rip from the Great River the lost souls of the dead. They gazed upon the very pillars of creation. They understood, they knew,’ the creature’s face creased into a frown that resembled a snarl. ‘No more, no longer. But you know this already, don’t you?’
‘I don’t know. I’m new to all this. I don’t know anything, asides from the fact that I have this thing in me but I need to learn the Weave to get it out.’
‘No. You are more than that. You are different. You don’t know it yet, but you will. Providing you live long enough.’
‘I don’t understand. Why am I here?’ Seb said. Something was changing. The energy was leaving him. He looked at his arms. The blue glow was fading. It was still bright, but slightly dimmer, like a bulb on its last legs. He looked up as the walls of the chamber flickered. For a moment he was back in the sanctum, the Magister and Caleb crouched over him, shouting something that he could not hear. The image flickered again and he was back in the great chamber. He screamed and fell backwards when he saw that lizard-like face not six inches from his own.
‘You will go now, your time here is almost up.’ The creature knelt down next to him. Seb tried to roll away but his strength was sapped. He could only flop onto his back and await whatever hardship the creature would throw at him.
‘What do you want from me?’ he whispered.
‘The time is coming, young mage. The time of the sleeping world is over. The Consensus is breaking, and the time will come when you have to make a choice.’
The world began to blur, the walls faded and the wind receded. Above him, behind the creatures head, the oak beams of the sanctum chamber began to form out of the gloom.
‘I don’t understand. What choice?’
‘Not yet, mageling, not yet. Now, take this from me, take this and go.’
‘What is it?’
The creature smiled as it held up one finger from a hand that contained only three. At the edge of the sharp talon glowed a small, almost invisible ball of light. As the creature lowered its finger towards his chest it leaned over, its great maw level with Seb’s ears.
‘What you came for,’ it whispered.
The creature touched his chest. His back snapped upwards as a pulse of energy ripped through his core. The world turned white. Something roared in his ears. He opened his mou
th to scream.
‘Seb!’
Caleb’s voice. The whiteness began to fade. Shadowy blobs moved and twisted, shrunk and grew.
‘Seb, can you hear me?’ Caleb again. Frantic. Someone shook him by the shoulders.
‘Seb. Come back.’
This time it was the Magister. Her voice resounded around his head as if blasted from a megaphone. The whiteness vanished. The stone structures of the Inner Sanctum came into view. Caleb knelt before him, his face a picture of concern.
‘Caleb,’ he said. His voice sounded slurred.
‘Are you okay?’
Seb connected to the Weave. He sensed out. Caleb’s concern echoed back. The Magister was more intrigued than worried.
Wait a minute.
He sensed again. Farther this time. Echoes came back almost instantly, rebounding from all around the building.
He could do it. He could connect to the Weave.
‘Seb?’
‘I’m good, Caleb. Thanks,’ he said, accepting the offered hand and standing. His legs shook. He channelled a simple Script designed to invigorate tired muscles. The shaking vanished instantly.
‘I’m really good.’
Chapter 25
The following few weeks flew by in a blur. With his Weave connection established, Seb threw himself back into training with renewed vigour. Caleb asked once what he’d seen on his Weave-walk. Where had he been? Some images still lingered. A tower. Lightning. Barren landscapes. He couldn’t quite remember what had happened. Had he spoken to somebody? Something? He couldn’t remember. Something had happened, he was sure of that. Something that had removed the doubt that nearly ended his training before it began. It hadn’t removed the block in his mind, the one that hid the message, but it had allowed him to channel the Weave as easily as breathing. Sure, he was behind, way behind, compared to the other acolytes, but he was up and running now, and he wouldn’t let it slide. Just one thing lingered from the Weave-walk where he’d been pulled away to places unknown. A phrase burned into his memory.
A choice. He would have to make a choice.
The mornings were always focused on Sentio. Quickly he’d discovered he no longer needed the foci. Caleb, impressed, and perhaps a little bit curious, had pushed harder. Seb absorbed Script after Script. When he wasn’t calling Scripts he was head down in the Foundations of Arcana. Many, if not most of the Scripts there were beyond his understanding, but he found that the more he learned the more he came to understand others. A familiar rune here, another script comprised of two known ones added together. His knowledge grew. His library of scripts with it.
Message Bearer (The Auran Chronicles Book 1) Page 15