by Aaron Hodges
“We must go to Chole,” Eric hissed.
“What?” Enala shouted back, confusion sweeping across her face. “Chole is in the wrong direction!”
“Exactly. The demon will never guess to look for us there.”
“But the Sword of Light is in Kalgan.”
Eric nodded. “I know. But there is an ancient passage between the two cities, a magical path called The Way. Unfortunately, as far as I know, only two people have used it in the last five hundred years and lived.”
Enala fell silent. Finally, she turned to him. “Who were they?”
“Alastair and Thomas.”
Enala gave a grim nod. “Okay, we go to Chole.”
Eric’s sense of dread grew. Silently, he reached for the winds and directed them away from the river. The image of the skeleton’s grin as it attacked Alastair appeared in his mind’s eye. He fought down his fear, but in truth he did not hold out much hope for in their new plan. His mentor had only survived through sheer luck. What chance did they have?
But then, they didn’t stand a chance against the demon either.
Eric closed his eyes and sent a desperate prayer to whatever entity remained that Inken and the others had survived. Every inch of his being screamed for him to turn back, but he kept on, jaw locked, neck straining, hands clenched so hard his fingernails bit into his palms. There was no choice, they had to keep going.
They flew on for another hour, then a second as Eric strained every mile he could get from his magic. Below they caught glimpses of open farmland in the dim moonlight. Patches of forest flashed by, and the odd stream, but otherwise they saw little. They held each other close, shivering as the wind drew the heat from their bodies.
Eric felt his concentration waning with his fading strength. His eyes drooped, the chill creeping through his body. Finally he could go no further, and they drifted lower in the sky. With the trickle of magic remaining, he directed them towards the ground in a downwards spiral.
He could see no roads or buildings, only the gently rolling hills of northern Plorsea and a flock of sheep huddled together in the pasture. A few looked up at their approach, and then returned to their slumber. Apparently two humans falling from the sky did not bother them overly much.
Despite his best efforts, they were still moving too fast when they hit the ground. Their feet went out from under them, a final gust of wind sending them rolling across the dry grass. Eric bit back a curse as his shoulder struck a rock buried in the field. When they finally came to a stop, he was thankful just to be in one piece.
They lay there a while then, taking stock of their bruises and checking for broken bones. Eric took a deep breath, savouring the grassy scent of the field. Nearby several sheep finally climbed to their feet and trotted away, their angry grunts loud in the night’s silence. Exhaustion washed through Eric’s body as his muscles began to ache. The flight had pushed him too far; he had spent some of his own life-force to bolster his magic. Now he would suffer the after-effects.
“Are you okay?” Enala asked as she stood.
Eric took stock of his body, the twinging pain already spreading to his arms. Soon they would start to cramp and seize. Then the real pain would begin. If he was lucky he might still be able to move. Either way, they needed to find shelter before he was completely immobilised. He pushed himself to his feet, his injured shoulder shrieking in protest.
“For now. But we had better get out of the open. Who knows what’s out here.”
“Easier said than done. It’s pitched black, we have no torches, and all I could see as we landed was farmland,” she glanced at the stars. “From what I can tell, Chole is in that direction,” she pointed to where he guessed was south.
“That’s a start. We should probably avoid the roads anyway,” he took a step down the hill. His leg crumpled as pain tore into his calf. He would have fallen if Enala had not caught him.
“I don’t think you’ll be going anywhere in this condition,” Enala observed.
Eric ran a hand through his hair. “We don’t have much choice; we need to find shelter.”
Enala shook her head, forehead creased with worry. “I don’t know much about magic, but you don’t look good, Eric. You’re pale as a ghost. And we’re not going to get far in the dark anyway. It must be almost midnight,” she looked around. “At least we seem to be on the leeward side of the hill here. There doesn’t seem to be much wind.”
“Where did you learn so much about the outdoors?” Eric glanced at the younger girl. Blond hair hung across her face and her copper lock had caught on her nose.
Enala made a face. “My parents, remember. They taught me how to survive.”
“Okay, so what do we do? We didn’t exactly have time to grab supplies before we left.”
“No, and you’re in no condition to go anywhere. It’s going to be a rough night. But you rest, I’ll see if I can find some wood for a fire.”
“Is that a good idea? The demon might not be far behind.”
“If it is, I don’t think it’ll need a fire to find us. But if our plan worked, it shouldn’t be anywhere near us. We should be safe here, I hope.”
Raising his hands in surrender, Eric sank back to the grass. “You win. But I lived in the wilderness too, remember. There are other things out here, dangerous creatures and people. A fire might attract them.”
“Maybe, but there are others it will keep at bay,” she laughed suddenly. “And I’m cold,” the laughter overtook her then, her whole body shaking as she bent in two, hysterical tears running down her face.
Eric couldn’t help but laugh himself; a painful, hopeless laughter rising up from the gulf inside him. Michael was dead, another friend lost to the darkness. And Jurrien had followed, the last God standing against Archon’s power, and their companions had probably gone with him. They were alone, fleeing for their lives from a mad, unstoppable demon.
And here they were, worrying about thieves and the wildlife.
Finally the laughter subsided. Eric wiped his eyes, offering Enala a gentle pat on the back. “Okay, good plan. Let’s at least be warm.”
Enala took a deep breath, cooling her last bout of laughter, and straightened. She wore a small smile, reflecting the self-directed mirth. With a wink she made her way into the darkness and disappeared around the bend in the hill.
Lying back, Eric tried not to second guess the decision. Worry gnawed at his conscience; whatever Enala said, he should not have let her wander off alone. If she was lost…
“Okay, sleepyhead. We have fire.”
Eric snapped awake, shocked he’d drifted off to sleep. The exhaustion had crept up on him, stealing him away the second he closed his eyes.
Enala sat across from him, smiling happily in the light of the small fire. She held her hands out to the blaze, her grin growing. A pile of wood and kindling lay beside her.
Stretching, Eric tried to hide his surprise. “How did you light it?” he asked.
“It wasn’t hard. An old trick I learned when I was young. If you’re lucky, I’ll show you one day. We were just fortunate I found a dead tree with plenty of firewood.”
“Another time,” Eric nodded. Holding his hands out to the flames, he let the warmth seep into his frozen joints. The cold had crept into his bones while he slept. A sharp pain lanced through his body as he moved. He tried to stifle a groan, and failed.
Enala moved across to sit beside him. “Are you okay?”
“Nothing a bit of sleep and food won’t fix,” he paused. “We don’t have any food, do we?” his stomach rumbled.
“Afraid not. It was too dark to look properly; in the morning we might be able to find berries or something. Oh, and the firewood will probably only last an hour or so. Enjoy it while it lasts.”
Eric groaned and lay back again, trying to rest his aching body. He closed his eyes, the light of the fire flickering across his eyelids. Its heat provided some scant comfort against the night’s chill. At least the hill sheltered them fro
m the cursed wind. He’d had more than enough after their flight.
Eric flinched when he felt Enala’s body lie down next to him. Instinctively, he reached out an arm and drew her closer. It would be a long night; they would need each other’s body heat to keep out the cold. They held each other close, silent, eyes closed, and listened to the chirping of the crickets and the crackle of the fire.
Before long Eric felt himself drifting back towards sleep. This time he made no effort to resist…
Eric’s eyes shot open. He stared up at the stars, feeling the cold wash over him. He had no idea how long he had slept, but he sensed the fire was cold and dead. There was only Enala’s warmth beside him now.
He frowned, exhaustion threatening to pull him back down into sleep. What had woken him? The growl of an animal? The wind? Or the muffled whisper of a footstep?
Fog clouded his mind, the lure of sleep reassuring him they were safe. But something had woken him. Groaning, he tore himself from the clutches of sleep and sat up
The sound of movement came from nearby. Eric struggled to his feet, alert now but his aching body refusing to obey.
He looked up in time to see the club descend. He opened his mouth to cry out, and then pain exploded through his skull, and he fell back into darkness.
*************
“Go!” Inken screamed.
There was no time to stand there in shock. Just a moment before a bolt of lightning had erupted from thin air to dance amongst the forest in front of them. The rotten stench of burning meat and wood reached them as the trees burnt, clearing a path to safety. For a precious second Inken stood shocked, searching for Eric, expecting the young Magicker to drop from the sky.
Then, with a sick sense of dread, Inken realised this was Jurrien’s final gift to them.
“Go!” Inken screamed again and sprang forward. She raced into the gap left by the lightning, not stopping to check if Gabriel or Caelin followed. They could not afford to hesitate now. The demon remained preoccupied with Jurrien, but that might not last long. They needed to get as far away as possible, while they still could.
As she ran, Inken glanced at the writhing mass surrounding them. Already the blackened shoots were beginning to regenerate, shooting from the earth to chase them down the narrow alley. She picked up the pace. Fear bordering on panic drove her onwards, concern for her companions coming a distant second.
The path before them narrowed as the vines reached for them. But the end was close, the walls of a broken building beckoning through the unnatural forest. They burst from the last of the trees, vines tearing at their skin as they made their escape. Inken lashed out with her blade to free herself and pressed on. Their respite would not last long, not if they remained in Sitton. Ahead the street sloped down towards the river. The ship was their only chance.
She glanced back to check on Gabriel and Caelin. They nodded back, their faces strained and haggard. Inken guessed hers did not look much better. They jogged down the street, dodging through the ruined buildings and rubble littering their path. Any faster and they would break an ankle in the darkness. If not for the burning buildings, their pace would have been even slower.
As they neared the waterfront, a flash of light lit the sky behind them. They looked back in time to see a blue glow erupt from where Jurrien and the demon had fought. A rumble of thunder followed, then a blast of wind struck them, forcing them to their knees.
As quickly as it had appeared, the conflagration vanished, and a deathly silence fell over the company. No one spoke. They knew what had just happened.
Jurrien, God of the Sky, was dead.
They were alone now, the only ones left to stand against the darkness.
Inken swallowed hard and picked up the pace. The ship could not be much further, but with every step she expected the laughter to begin anew, as the demon came for them. She glanced back over her shoulder, searching for the first sign of pursuit. She prayed to whatever force of good remaining that Eric and Enala were a long way from here by now.
A surge of relief swept through her as they turned a corner and found the river waiting for them. Their ship still bobbed on the water, alone now in the docks, the other vessels long since fled. The contingent of marines they’d left behind stood guard at the dock, faces grim. Terrified villagers packed the railings of their vessels, eyes glancing up at the city.
The marines parted as they approached, the captain offering Caelin a salute.
“Sir, everyone but your party is aboard. I don’t know what’s happening up there, but we took as many villagers on board as we could and then closed the dock,” the man hesitated, eyes drifting up to where the light had appeared. “Where are the others?”
Caelin shook his head. “Dead or gone. There’s no time to discuss things now. Get the ship ready to depart. We have to be gone five minutes ago.”
“Already done, sir,” the captain announced as they boarded. “Everybody hold on! Throw ropes, we’re underway!”
Men leapt to obey the captains command, as eager as anyone to leave the doomed city. Ropes were cut and oars shipped as they pushed off the dock. Minutes later the ship was surging up the river, the frantic beat of the oars driving them onwards at a frantic pace.
Inken could not tear her eyes from the broken city. Flames lit the broken buildings and the thick smoke rising from the once beautiful city blacked out the stars. She could see little chance of survival for any soul remaining within its walls.
As the ship raced around the first bend in the river, the burning city slowly disappeared from view.
Closing her eyes, Inken let the first tears begin to fall.
*************
Thomas closed his eyes, feeling the new power coursing through him. It twisted with the dark magic that now ruled his mortal body, joining with the green tendrils of earth magic. This was a wild force, this Sky element, a power he had never wielded before. It fought him, surged against his will, fighting for freedom.
The demon inside grinned at the challenge. Antonia’s power had come easily; as a mortal he had possessed Earth magic for decades. Yet the Sky was different: unwieldy, demanding, struggling for control. It would take time to master.
Ah, but when he did.
Thomas lifted his face to the sky, breathing in the destruction. His tongue darted out, tasting the ash of his conquest. Closing his eyes, he savoured the screams of the dying echoing up from the city. The destruction was almost complete. As was his mission.
He frowned then, sensing an absence. His quarry had escaped, the girl fleeing with the boy who wielded Sky magic of his own. And Jurrien had saved the others.
Shaking his head, Thomas dismissed them. The mortals were of no consequence. The other two though, he would hunt them to the ends of the earth.
He smiled. It would not come to that. No one remained to stand against Archon’s magic now. The Three Nations lay open before his master’s power. His taint would spread, and those who grew tired of the yoke of the God’s would rise up against their rulers. This time, there would be no resistance, no God’s to unite the people against his master’s crusade.
And whispers of the two he hunted would spread. They could not go undetected for long. Word of their passage would soon reach the ears of Archon’s servants.
But of course, he knew where they must go anyway. The kingdom of Trola lay far to the west. In its capital, the Sword of Light waited for its rightful wielder. The Sword was their only hope now, the only God power remaining to protect the Three Nations. They would claim it if they could.
Thomas grinned. But not if he claimed it first. He began to march through the ruins of Sitton, following the taint of magic the boy had left behind. It was already fading, and soon all sign of their passage would vanish. It did not matter. He would wait for them in Kalgan.
He glanced at the night’s sky. The boy and Jurrien could fly. A useful skill, even if the dark magic already allowed him to travel faster than any mortal. He would need to discover the s
ecret to their flight. With the strength of the Storm God’s magic, he had no doubt he could outpace the boy.
Thomas laughed, basking in the power of the two Soul Blades. A surge of joy throbbed in his veins as he reached for Antonia’s power. He felt the dim shriek of her soul as he tapped into its destructive force. A tremor raced out from him, buckling the earth in one final wave of destruction. With a roar and a whoosh of dust, the last of Sitton toppled to the ground.
Thomas walked from the ruin, into darkness.
Eleven
Enala wriggled on the hard floor, struggling to find a more comfortable position. The task was almost impossible with the wagon lurching through every pothole in the rutted road. The rope tying her hands behind her back also didn’t help, or the dirty rag that had been shoved in her mouth. She winced as the wheels struck a rock, tossing her into the air. Canvas sides covered the rear of the wagon, leaving her blind to the world outside.
Eric lay across from her, unconscious. His breath was laboured and a purple bruise marked his forehead. Sweat beaded his brow, while grass stains covered his clothes. He groaned as the wagon bounced again, but still did not wake.
His warning call had woken her, but before she could even draw her sword from its scabbard, rough hands grabbed her and threw her to the ground. There had been at least six of them, too many for her to fight alone. She had been overpowered in seconds, then stripped of her sword and dagger. They had then been lugged overland for hours in the darkness, finally arriving at a faint track where a wagon waited.
Sunlight had begun to seep through the canvas cloth hours ago, and Eric still showed no sign of stirring. Enala pulled at her bonds again, hoping to stretch the rope enough to free herself. The coarse threads cut into her wrists, refusing to yield. It seemed their only hope was if Eric could regain the strength to summon his magic.