“If it were only that easy, boy. Your weak spells would do nothing against its hardened, alien mind. But I think we could teach you a spell that might help. We have used it on many worlds to tame aliens and creatures we have encountered. We’ll see if you have any talent to learn the spell and gain mastery of it in time to do any good.”
A sudden curiosity came over Mara. “Why is this world called the Origin World?”
“No one ever told you the story?” The creature frowned, the voice deep and rumbling. “Here, sit for a moment and we will tell it to you.”
“It is best if I tell the story, Crar. I did found the royal order of historians, after all. The old gods would be displeased if I did not deliver the words.”
“True enough,” said Crar, resigned.
The creature cleared its throat. “In the beginning the universe was without form, a great void of nothingness. That is, to all but those of well-trained eyes they would have seen nothing but an empty void. In fact, scattered throughout the universe were fragments of the divine. Pieces of its former self shattered into billions and billions of tiny energetic bits waiting to come together and form life.
“Now, the originating point of that former, unified, all-knowing self was here, where our black star rests in the sky. The Origin of Nothingness. And the Origin of Everything. After there had been a great explosion that shattered the divine into many countless infinitesimal pieces, the Origin World was slowly formed over many eons. We were the first world birthed. The place where all magic and power and life came together. Creatures spawned from our gray oceans and were nurtured by our gray sky and black sun. We came into existence as stronger creatures, hardier, more willful, and fearing nothing. Immortality was bestowed upon us as a gift from our old gods.
“We are the old masters, the original sentient creatures, the givers of gifts and the takers of lives. All other beings are mere shadows of our original power. Replicas and imitations of the original. Unfortunately for us, our race trusted too much, were overconfident, and were betrayed far too often. So we were slain. We failed to reproduce. But before we utterly perished, we mastered the ability to control the movement of our souls into new bodies. We invented this ability under the sheer terror and duress of being eliminated as a species. This extended our race, at least until the priests of Yavreel came and tricked us, killing hundreds of the remaining old masters.”
“Now you are all that is left?” asked Mara.
The creature shook its head. “Sadly, Crar and I are all that are left of our ancient race, at least here on this world. The others either were killed or left eons ago. The survivors are out there traveling the stars, or they’ve inhabited new planets. Those were the ones who gave rise to the people called the Starwalkers. They created their ancient technology, trained humanoids to use the technology, and then left them. Perhaps you know of the Starwalkers?”
“Yes, we’ve encountered them many times.” Talis looked conflicted, lost in a memory. “Though they are not exactly fond of us. They provided the way for us to travel to the Origin World, through the Starwalker sanctuary hovering over our world, the Planet Yorek.”
“You’ve fought with them. Killed them?”
“Especially those who follow the dark god Yavreel. But we were fighting for our freedom and our friends. We had no other choice.”
At Talis’ proclamation, the creature opened its mouth in a vicious-looking smile. “Wonderful news to our ears. Any enemy to our enemy is our friend. And we are impressed to hear you managed such a feat. The Starwalkers are generally quite powerful. How did you do it?”
Talis glanced over at Mara. She cleared her throat and said, “The daggers aided us in stealth. We killed them with swords and daggers.”
“Lovely! We adore the brutality of physical violence. This will be useful in the hours ahead. Though now, we must teach you the tiniest sliver of our origin magic, the most powerful kind in the known universe.
“Let us begin.” The creature bent over and inspected Talis and Nikulo, and black fibers poured from its fingertips.
29. Under the Dark Sun
Rikar woke to the sound of thunder and the rumbling of an earthquake. Sweat covered his brow and soaked his sheets. It felt cold suddenly and seemed as if the whole world were being torn asunder, like the gods were raging in anger.
He lifted himself up and gave a sigh of relief, finding the eyes of Devonia. She lay next to him, in bed, the sheets pulled up over her chest as she glanced around the dimly lit room. From the ferocity of the strikes outside, he was afraid the building might collapse around them.
A knock on the door. Aurellia’s voice, low and urgent. “They are counter-attacking. It’s time to wake.”
“I’m already awake.” Rikar slid out of bed and stared at the tile floor. He wished he was anywhere but this hideous world. Groaning, he pushed himself to his feet and stumbled over to the chair where his clothes were.
“Do we have to go back out there? I’m worried, Rikar. I think the pressure might kill you.”
He turned to her, frowning. But her sweet face softened his response. “I don’t think I can say no to them.”
“Can’t you try again? After all we went through in Carvina? We purged the Naemarians and healed our people. You fought so hard and gained control over your nightmares. Can’t you do it again?”
“It’s different this time. I can’t heal myself of their curse. They won’t let me.” Rikar grit his teeth as a sharp pain exploded inside his head. He fell to his knees, hands digging into his hair.
No, we won’t ever let you leave us. We are always here, we always will be here. We are legion. You will stop resisting or we will break you until your mind fragments and ceases to be an independent whole. You know too much about us. Perhaps it is time for us to utterly break you.
“No,” Rikar whispered, his voice in agony. “No, gods, please, make it stop. Let the pain end, I beg of you…”
Devonia ran over to him and knelt, putting her arms around his shivering frame. He could vaguely feel her soft skin against his, soothing him. Her delicate voice whispered in his ears, crying and pleading to the gods. But it seemed so far off in the distance, like she was comforting someone else.
Finally it subsided. He let out a suppressed exhalation, not knowing he had held his breath for so long. It was inconceivable for him to resist such pain. He knew that if he ever uttered a thing about freeing himself from the Naemarian clutches they would break his mind like a crystal under a hammer’s blow. There would be nothing left of his former self.
The ground shook and swayed, knocking Rikar and Devonia against the wall. A lamp fell off a nightstand and shattered against the floor.
Outside thunder boomed and cracked like the splintering of wood. Knocking came again, urgent this time.
“Get up! We have to go now.” Lord Aurellia banged on the door until Rikar muttered that they were coming.
They got dressed and strapped on their sheathed swords. Rikar fingered the magical ring, thinking of the fury waiting outside.
The blood rain was coming. The pent-up fury of the Naemarians was coursing wildly through his veins. It ran rampant across the city. Wells were being tainted. Citizens were being turned. Rikar could hear it all and see it all in the madness raging in his mind.
Devonia gave him a worried squint of her eyes before he opened the door and faced Aurellia’s impatient gaze. The dark lord turned and strode down the dim corridor, up many flights of stairs, and led them outside.
Rikar shielded his gaze from the brightness of the gray sun. Plumes of dark energy jettisoned across the sky, criss-crossing lines of smoke. Lightning arced and flared in brilliant splinters sideways, illuminating the smoke and clouds above the shambles of the cityscape of Navria.
The city was in flames. Black smoke belched from broken, burning buildings. Throngs of the dwindling mad leapt off roofs and clambered over the slain, mangled bodies covering the stairs leading up to the temple entrance.
T
he priests of Yavreel stood proud and tall at the base of the temple, eyes radiant and fierce. Their alien hands issued forth threads of black magic, spells of lightning, and tremors that shook the very core of the world.
The battle had turned and now favored their enemies. Lord Aurellia folded his hands over his belly and surveyed the grisly scene. Rikar, who had learned the spell from the Naemarians on the previous day, cast a powerful shield of magical light around Devonia and himself. He couldn’t care less what happened to his master. Let the monster face his own fate.
“The Nameless has gone to rest, her mortal body is injured. Her faithful priests are seeing to her healing, though I worry whether or not the host body will perish. Our enemies managed a brutal shift in tactics and completely focused their attacks on her. I thought for sure she was lost. It seems that without you and the Naemarians, the battle is hopeless.”
Aurellia pointed at several priests standing at the base of the temple. They held shimmering relics: a leg bone formed of black crystal, a wicked-looking scythe made of some glowing, blue stone, and a white jewel box with glittering runes along the sides. “They have brought more artifacts to aid them in the struggle. I’ve tried to target them but so far my spells have done little to damage them. I pray you will have better luck.”
Do not trust this one, hissed a Naemarian voice. He is the father of lies and will turn on you as soon the battle is won. You must strike a blow and silence him permanently. Catch him unaware. Do it when we command you to attack. If you hesitate, you will once again feel our wrath. Do not disobey or ignore us. We played a soft hand with your friend Nikulo but we will not be fooled again. Victory is too close.
“Did you hear me?” Lord Aurellia turned to stare at him. Rikar realized he hadn’t heard a word he’d said.
“Sorry. I was getting a message from the Naemarians.”
“And?”
Tell him you will destroy the enemy relics first, said a Naemarian voice.
“We should attack at once.” Rikar pointed at the leg bone relic. His fingers released a powerful shot of dissolving energy, an unblockable spell the Naemarians had taught him.
A priest tried to shield the black crystal relic from the spell, but was instantly disintegrated. The spell, however, was mostly absorbed by the priest. Rikar cursed and shot off another spell, only to have the priests use magic to drag dead bodies in front of the relic, protecting the crystal bone from his spell.
He sighed, balling up his fists and cursed. At this rate they’d never destroy a relic. He had to try a different approach.
“Aim at the bodies,” Aurellia said, and released a powerful blast of fire at the dead piled up on the steps.
A titanic whoosh sounded and a bonfire ignited, consuming ravaged corpses in a multi-chromatic rush. But the threat of fire failed to keep the Naemarian horde from plunging head first into the inferno.
Burning, smoking aliens and human hosts burst out on the other side of the fire, shambling around like the walking dead. They kept staggering, determined, toward the priests in a desperate attempt to kill them. But the blaze halted their movements, and the burning bodies fell over onto the steps, far short of their targets.
The priests looked down at the dead with contempt in their eyes. Other priests, the ones controlling the three relics, aimed their attacks at Aurellia and Rikar. Soon a merged rope of black, energetic fibers slammed against Rikar’s magical shield, bouncing off and breaking buildings in the process.
The shield cracked slightly, but held. Would it hold after a second blast? He doubted it. In a surge of power, he sent additional energy from his star fragment, strengthening the shield.
Aurellia stared at Rikar in amazement. “Another blast like that and you would have been vaporized.”
Go for the weaker of the priests, the one on the right with the white box. Destroy the weak link and you will prevail. The Naemarians sounded eager and distraught, so unlike yesterday’s haughty attitudes he felt through his connection.
“Aim at the priest with the white relic.” Rikar pointed at the priest and cast several smaller feints meant to trick him. He followed it with one massive blast targeted directly at the relic.
The priest fell for the lesser blows, dragging burning corpses over to absorb the impact. But after the last spell, the alien priest was unable to handle it. The annihilating blast tore into the relic and shattered the box in a burst of silver and black light.
A droning cry came from the destroyed relic, louder than thunder. It wailed over the battlefield, causing Rikar to fall to his knees, covering his ears. The others did the same, enemy priest and allies alike. The only ones who ignored the banshee cry were the Naemarian-infested citizens. They took the temporary distraction and leveraged it to their advantage, scampering up the temple steps and tearing into the cringing figures.
The priests, eyes down and ears covered, flailed about as the horde bit into their necks and a hundred other soft places. The other priests rallied their defenses and blasted both victim and aggressor back into the flaming pyre of the previously slain.
Silence held over the battlefield as both sides seemed to temporarily regroup and assess the damage. Rikar noticed the horde was smaller than before and hesitated, staying farther back against the walls.
We will hold our main forces in reserve until you deal with the remaining relics. Target the middle relic. The leg bone is by far the strongest. Once you have destroyed it we will bring our entire army to smash our opponents. Then we will claim victory. The Naemarians seemed renewed at Rikar’s success in destroying the relic; however he didn’t share in their enthusiasm.
What would happen if he did destroy the magical relics? They hadn’t managed to kill more than a few priests. Couldn’t they retrieve additional relics from the temple? Eventually Rikar would get tired and they would lose ground once again.
How should they be thinking? Where should they focus their attacks and win the day? He couldn’t go on like this forever. Even though he rested for a time, he could feel the cracks in his ability to contain the magic. He didn’t know when he would break, but he was sure he would ruin his ability to do magic if the battle went on for too long.
Don’t dwell on dreary thoughts. Seize the advantage and keep pressing on. Use the draining spell on the middle priest. Cause him to stumble and defocus his ability to wield the relic. You might be able to steal it instead of destroying it…
The draining spell was another nefarious invention by the Naemarians. It sucked power and mental focus from the target, and left the victim despondent and suicidal. Similar to the other spells they’d taught him, it resisted all magical shields and tore into the enemy’s brain. He’d tested it on a few priests positioned atop towers. They had been picking off the horde who were terrorizing the streets. Distracted, the fools had been struck by the spells and they hurled themselves off the tall structures, dashing their bodies against the stone streets.
The problem with his connection to the Naemarians was that Rikar found himself loving and craving the power. They fed into his ambition and constantly showered him with images where he was ruling the world, conquering new worlds, with Devonia ruling at his side. It was a pleasant dream, one that he could get used to. Though he dared not allow her to drink of the Naemarian spring water. He refused to have her share in his cursed fate.
As he was about to cast a spell, the priests magically pulled in all the burning bodies from the pyre and assembled a smoking wall of corpses, shielding themselves and obscuring his view. He flew into the air, climbing rapidly, and positioned himself around to the side. But at all angles they had blocked his visibility of the temple.
Aurellia shot a mass of liquid ice at the burning mess, dousing the flames and smoke in an instant. The spell created a solid ice wall of the burned and disfigured bodies.
Rikar punched a shattering spell at the wall, exploding the ice into many slivers of sharp projectiles, catching the priests unaware. Several large ice shards stabbed the priests,
their eyes filled with horror and surprise. They looked down at the blood spilling out of their bellies and chests, disbelieving. He followed the first attack by seizing additional icicles and shooting them at other priests—tips forward—and managed to stab a few more.
While the priests were distracted by the ice, Rikar prepared a gigantic draining spell at the middle priest who was trying to protect the blue stone scythe from the elemental assault.
Shock and despair gripped the alien priest as Rikar’s spell caught it unmindful. He cast a lassoing spell and yanked the scythe over and caught it. The thrill of power from the relic filled him and he screamed a cry of victory.
This enraged the priests and they shot spell after spell at him, sending several spidering cracks along his magical shield. He retreated to the balcony where Aurellia and Devonia stood while the dark lord sent shadows and flame to disrupt the priests.
But the elder priest wielding the leg bone relic raised his hands, giving a great shout to his dark god. The priest pulled twisting shadows and flames into a churning vortex above his head. The storm grew in ferocity as the priest pulsated and pushed a massive amount of power into the core.
In a mighty thrust, the priest propelled the storm at Rikar until it slammed into his shield. It cracked so completely it shattered in a brilliant explosion of energy. He was knocked back against the wall, the scythe flying from his hands, and he lay stunned and silent.
Around him echoed the cursing chants of the alien priests. He looked up and gaped at the sky filled with flames. He blacked out a moment and saw the guardians of the Underworld staring at him, eyes curious. A warm rush of peace filled him, lulling him to give up and venture on to the world of the dead.
You’ve fought enough, whispered the guardians. Close your eyes and let go.
The next moment he stared up at Devonia’s worried face. She slapped him again when he drifted off.
“Wake up!” she screamed.
Origin Mage Page 19