Light Mage

by Laurie Forest

  “Sage!” Ra’Ven is sitting up, his expression severe. “What can we do? How do we stop it?”

  I shake my head, hot tears blurring my eyes, fear overtaking me. “I don’t know.” The sting morphs into a sharper pain, and I flex my fists, fire blasting through my affinity lines. I grab up my tunic and pants and throw them on with quivering hands as Ra’Ven quickly throws on his pants and grabs his rune-stylus.

  “Give me your hands,” Ra’Ven says. “I’ll wrap a cooling rune around your skin.”

  I can barely hear him—my mind is caught up in a heated daze. I blink hard, trying to dampen the image of black wings that’s warping my vision.

  “Sage.” I hear Ra’Ven somewhere in the back of my mind and am dimly aware of his cold hand around my upper arm.

  I scramble for the White Wand and wince as I take it in hand, its spiraling white handle scraping against my fastlines like cut glass. I yank my arm away from Ra’Ven and start for the door.

  Ra’Ven catches hold of me again. “Sage, wait—”

  “No!” I say insistently. “There’s fire. I can feel the fire building in me. It’s too hot. I’ll destroy everything in this cave...” Bright slashes of pain streak across my hands, and I cry out. I wrench my arm away from Ra’Ven again, stumble through the curtained doorway and break into a run through the cave’s passages, through to the large common area, and burst outside.

  I run, almost stumbling, through the chilly predawn air, down the hill toward the forest. The fire distorts my vision and ignites into an inferno threatening to consume me whole. I fall down on one knee before the broad trees, clutch the White Wand tight in my fist and throw my wand arm out as I desperately intone the Light Strike spell.

  Golden fire burns through my lines and explodes from the Wand. I’m thrust backward, my tailbone slamming against a jutting root as fire explodes into the woods and ignites a stand of Blackwood Oaks.

  Ra’Ven is down on his knees beside me, his form obscured by a veil of fire. He grabs my wrist hand, and I try to pull away from him, but he says something vehemently in Smaragdalfar and holds firm. He presses his stylus against my hand and attempts to draw a rune on my palm, the glowing green lines fading as fast as they’re laid down.

  “It won’t set,” he says in frustration. “The fasting spell’s interfering with my rune-sorcery.” He glances back at the inferno in the woods, the large trees rapidly being consumed by my fire.

  Pain strafes through my hands and clear up my arms with a renewed force.

  “No. Oh, Ancient One, no!” I stare at my hands, horrified as the red fastlines crack open into gaping wounds and turn blood-red.

  They’re punishing me. Keeping me in their prison.

  “Aughhh!” I cry out. The waves of slashing pain are astonishing, like somone flaying strips of my skin and then setting the wounds on fire. Stars burst in front of my eyes, explosion after explosion of horrible pain.

  I fall back onto the dirt, writhing, my cheek pressed to the ground, gravel biting at my skin.

  “I’ll get help.” Ra’Ven’s tone is defiant, as if he’s challenging the fasting. The fasting that’s stronger than both of us. “I’ll send for someone powerful enough to break this,” he says through gritted teeth, but I can see the desperation in his eyes as the burning, torturous pain consumes me whole.

  The world spins into a flaming spiral of agony.

  And then it turns to black.

  Chapter 19: Vu Trin

  I scream when I wake up, wishing I could chop my hands off to stop the pain. It’s like spears are being thrust into my palms, clear through my arms. Again and again and again...

  “Sage! They’re trying to help you!” Ra’Ven’s hands are clamped down on my arms as I thrash violently against his hold. Pain slashes my hands while waves of fire burn through me, dark wings suspended in my mind. Flapping, rhythmically...

  I shriek, writhing, seized in the teeth of the nightmare. Flashes of Ra’Ven’s devastated face come in and out of focus as the pain rides in on knifing waves.

  I hate you! I rail at my people, at the Ancient One, as my hands are flayed and flayed and flayed again. I turn to Ra’Ven, delirious, the world blurring as my body burns. “I want you!” I sob to Ra’Ven, in defiance of my people’s cruelty, hot tears coursing down my face.

  “You have me, ti’a’lin,” Ra’Ven says, his voice breaking. He lets loose with a stream of impassioned Smaragdalfar as he clings onto me.

  Pain slices into my hands again, and I cry out in torment. And with fury. At this terrible, powerful, unforgiving spell.

  There’s a small break in the waves of agony and enough focus returns for me to register that there’s a gray-haired Noi woman standing beside Ra’Ven, a white dragon embroidered on her black tunic, a black metal circlet marked with glowing blue runes around her brow. Her brown, wizened face is round and kind-looking, and she’s setting lines of rune-stones down on the table beside me.

  Behind her stand three grim-faced Vu Trin soldiers, one a bent, white-haired crone with a long, rune-marked staff. The crone has a quiet air of unquestioned authority about her, and my pain-muddled mind marks her as someone powerful.

  The other two soldiers are younger and hold themselves military straight. They have similar sharp features, coal-black eyes, brown skin and straight black hair arranged in looping coils. The slightly shorter and slimmer of the two young women is horribly burned on half her face, one of her ears partially melted, the top of it hidden by a black cloth tied around her head.

  “Why are they here?” I cry out to Ra’Ven, alarmed by the presence of the Noi military.

  “To help you, ti’a’lin,” he says, desperation in his eyes as he holds onto me.

  The white-haired sorceress with the rune-staff is watching me closely with a calm, unflappable gaze. I notice she’s holding the White Wand in her other hand, and a covetous slash of yearning blasts through me at the sight of it.

  My Wand.

  The sorceress lifts my Wand and presses it against the glowing blue runes along her rune-staff as she closes her eyes and murmurs something that sounds like a chanted spell.

  Rays of blue light burst out from the Wand, and everyone in the room flinches. The white-haired crone’s eyes fly open, her gaze on me full of stunned amazement. “She is truly the bearer of the Zhilin.”

  “Two varg demons came for her,” Ra’Ven tells the crone.

  “Then the Shadow Wand has also awakened,” she says to him, her voice rife with forewarning. The assembled sorceresses launch into low, urgent conversation in their language.

  The fastlines continue to burn white-hot, and my back arcs with strained-to-the-point-of-breaking rigidity. The gray-haired, kind-faced woman beside Ra’Ven presses cool rune-stones against either side of my face, a buzzing energy flowing out from the stones and all through my affinity lines as the pain courses through my hands in rhythmic waves.

  “I cannot break it,” she says after a long moment, her accent heavy. “The spell is unforgivably strong.” She removes the stones from my face and picks up two new ones. She brings them to my cheeks as well, and they’re hard and cold as ice against my skin.

  I gasp as blue light rays out from her hands and a cooling current flows through my arms, to my hands, both the pain and the terrible fire racing through me rapidly tamped down.

  I struggle to catch my breath. “Who are you?”

  “I am Sang Loi,” the gray-haired woman tells me. “Rune-sorceress and healer of the Vu Trin.”

  “The fasting,” I rasp out to her. “It’s filling me with fire.”

  “No, toiya,” she says with great compassion as she shakes her head. “The fire you have in you is not from the fasting spell. You are pregnant, toiya. And your baby is an Icaral.”

  The world tilts, threatening to cave in. “No...” I gasp.

  “Yes, toiya. I can
read the fire. I have seen the dark wings in it.”

  I cry out in agony as another wave of pain breaks through and threatens to undo me. Sang Loi sends more of her cooling sorcery into me, like icy water being poured straight through my affinity lines. I flex my fingers and whimper, the movement only making the pain spike again, like shards of glass gouging into my skin. I still my hands and struggle to take a deep breath.

  Sang Loi pulls the rune-stones from my cheeks and carefully places one of them against my palm. I cry out at the explosion of pain, but it rapidly morphs into waves of cooling relief flowing into my hand and up my arm. I brace myself for the staggering pain as Sang Loi presses a rune-stone to my other palm, then secures both stones to my hands with long, black strips of cloth. Ra’Ven releases my arms, a tortured look on his face.

  Another pulse of cold ripples through my hands, and the pain draws back a fraction, enough to stay my panic. I take a labored, shuddering breath.

  “I can’t be pregnant,” I tell Sang Loi as fire races through my body. “We used sanjire root.”

  Sang Loi brushes back my hair with her fingers, the movement exceedingly gentle. “Sanjire root is light sensitive. You had a Light Strike spell coursing through your lines when you took the sanjire, and it suppressed the root’s power.”

  For a moment I can’t breathe.

  She’s wrong. I can’t be pregnant. And with an Icaral!

  “Sagellyn,” Sang Loi says insistently, her eyes full of compassion. “Do not be frightened. This child is simply a child with wyvern blood, not a demon. Your people tell lies about Icarals. And this child could be the Long Awaited One. The Icaral of Prophecy.”

  The Great Icaral. Destined to fight the next Black Witch and destroy Gardneria.

  I shake my head, panic overtaking me. “No...”

  “Your child may be our only hope,” she insists. “The Shadow Wand has risen. And your child will fight its evil power.”

  She’s wrong. She’s wrong, I inwardly rail, shaking my head back and forth. Icaral demons are made by dark forces. Shadow beasts of the Shadow Wand.

  I scream as the pain cuts through her sorcery and knifes into me again, and I’m suddenly unable to focus on anything but the agony of it. Sang Loi urgently directs those around her in the Noi language as she hastily pulls a stylus and pushes up my sleeves. I writhe in agony, barely aware of Ra’Ven holding tight to my arms once more as Sang Loi draws runes all up my arms, their energy buzzing through me. But this time, her magery can’t build a dam against the pain.

  “Sage,” Ra’Ven chokes out, guilt slashed across his face.

  And then I’m screaming and spiraling down into a nightmare landscape of fire and dark wings and demons and rivers of blood. Dark spots burst into my vision, and I hear Ra’Ven somewhere in the distance calling my name, his voice distraught. His hands clinging to me. Far away as the abyss of darkness claims me.

  Chapter 20: Prophecy

  I’m lost in a sea of fire and nightmares. Demons made of crimson flame with spiraling shadow horns are searching, searching, searching for the Wand. Tracking me. But now they aren’t just looking for the Wand.

  They want my Icaral child, too.

  Give him to us, they hiss through pointed teeth as I cower in the shadows of a destroyed Erthia. Blackened trees cover the land with branches that twist toward a blood-red sky. I shrink down in fright and watch as the demons’ glowing, fiery forms pass by. Hunting for my child. Hunting for the Wand.

  I run, darting around the dead forest, and hide behind a charred tree trunk when I hear another throng of demons approaching. And then, something new appears.

  A young Gardnerian priest.

  The bird emblazoned on his tunic is blindingly white in the gloom, his skin shimmering Gardnerian green.

  “Find her,” he tells the demonic horde, his voice low and elegant, his pale green eyes bright with controlled cruelty. “Find her and rip the child from her womb.”

  I pull myself down and in, struggling to breathe, wishing I still had a god to pray to. Tears stream hot down my face as terror grabs hold.

  * * *

  The nightmares break, and I’m left writhing in a feverish, half-conscious haze of pain. But I’ve an awareness of Ra’Ven there. Always there.

  “I love you. I love you, Sage. Tief’lia’lin...”

  Partial clarity breaks through the unbearable heat. The edges of him are distorted, cast off as blurred rays of light. There are tears in his eyes. I hear the distorted sound of a Vu Trin soldier sternly talking to him in her language, then Ra’Ven’s fierce reply and refusal to budge.

  He turns his tormented gaze back to me. “I’m so sorry,” he rasps. His impassioned apology devolves into a stream of Smaragdalfar.

  “Ra’Ven,” I force out. Ra’Ven’s shocked face comes into focus, even though he’s wreathed in fire. Heat whips through me, along with an implacable rage. Rage against one, huge, deserving target.

  My people. And this evil, unforgiving spell.

  “You’re not to blame for this,” I grind out, my voice sounding as if it’s coming from above. “They are. I’m going to make it to the Noi lands. And I will learn to use all of my power. And then I will come after this wandfasting spell. And I will destroy it.”

  Both his hands are on me now, cradling my fever-flushed cheeks, his face close but flickering, as if seen through flame.

  “I will be in the Noi lands with you,” he vows. “And I will promise myself to you in every way of every land.”

  And then there is nothing but fire and his voice struggling to compete with the roar of the flames. Something harsh said in Noi. Ra’Ven’s lashing Smaragdalfar reply. His forehead pressed to mine.

  “Ti’a’lin. Ti’a’lin. Tief’lia’lin...”

  And then nothing but the fire.

  * * *

  When I finally come to again, I’m in another strange room, my hands bound and heavy, the pain tamped down to day-old burns.

  Interlocking panels of wood above me form a geometric domed ceiling supported by dark rafters, the panels lacquered a deep crimson and carved with exquisite designs of white dragons. Amber glass orbs containing rune-flames are affixed to the walls, casting the room in a russet light.

  I look down to find slim chains holding small, glowing crimson runes wrapped around each of my hands, so tight I can barely move my fingers. Shaken and flushed with fever, I push myself up on my elbows.

  The old, round-faced Noi woman, Sang Loi, sits beside my bed. She clucks to me in the Noi language and slides her hand gently behind my back, helping me to sit up. I wince as the movement sets off new pain through my hands.

  “Where am I?” I shakily ask her.

  “We are in Amaz lands, toiya. In the military outpost we maintain here.”

  I look to her with surprise, my head spinning from the fever that’s still rhythmically washing over me like a fiery tide. I glance at my hands and try to lift one, wincing at the cut-glass flare of pain, the rune-chains clinking against each other.

  I look to Sang Loi, my lip trembling. “Where’s Ra’Ven? I want to see him.”

  She pauses before answering. “Toiya, he is gone.”

  The center drops from inside me. “Gone? No...”

  Sang Loi places a consoling hand on my arm. “He cannot be here, toiya. He fought to stay with you, but the Amaz will not allow a male to be here on their lands. And this is the only safe place for you now.” Her expression darkens. “We are not the only ones who know of your Icaral child. The Gardnerians and the Alfsigr know, as do the peoples of the Ishkart lands.”

  Fear strafes through me. “How?”

  “The trees read his image from the fire you cast at them, and they sent that knowledge out through the forests of both Realms. And now the seers of every race can read this image in their divinations.” She looks to my belly significan
tly. “Wooden die-casters of Alfsigroth. Tree leaf readers, like myself. Stick soothsayers of the Ishkart lands. Earth-Mages of Gardneria. All know of this child. And all are searching.”

  I’m frozen, horrified.

  “Be of strong heart, toiya,” she staunchly assures me. “The Zhilin, or as you call it, the White Wand, has risen. It has risen to protect you. And to protect the Great Icaral.”

  A storm of confusion spins inside me. “Why would the Amazakaran agree to shelter a male baby?”

  “The Amaz owe the Vu Trin a war debt. And we are asking for it to be repaid. It will be the only time the Amaz have ever allowed a male to exist on their territory.” Sang Loi’s expression turns sympathetic. “I am sorry, toiya, but they would not let Ra’Ven Za’Nor be here. Sheltering an adult male within their borders is too much for them to allow.”

  “Where is he?” I ask, my voice coarsened with misery.

  “Headed for Noi lands. And after you give birth, you will join him there. The Amazakaran will give you shelter until we can create a runic portal to send you East. But building a portal that covers such a vast distance takes time, and the magic is complicated.”

  “I need to save my sisters first,” I tell Sang Loi, a fierce desperation rising in me. “They’re in terrible trouble...”

  “You need to save yourself,” Sang Loi cautions. “And the Child of Prophecy. And you need to save the Zhilin.”

  Distraught, I look to the Wand that lies peacefully on the bedside table. So quiet. So silent.

  Help me, I silently plead to it. Pray to it. Since I have no one else left to pray to.

  Please, help me.

  * * *

  I spend the next few months going in and out of the delirium of fever, losing myself to the oblivion of sleep for long stretches, the Wand nestled beside me. But slowly, the nightmares start to fade away.

  A new dream comes in their place.

  White branches wrap around me and multiply. Birds made of starlight take shape in their hollows, warding off the nightmares. And a new landscape forms in my mind—a lush, dark forest, the scent of loamy soil heavy on the air.