The Jade Mage: The Becoming: Volume 1

by Latoria, William D.

  He channeled more and more raw magic through himself and into both infused wisps of smoke, from the green flame and sulfur. Now, more through will and instinct than gestures, he forced the smoke to move over his staff. “DARK!” he screamed, in a frenzy of rage, as the smoke absorbed into the gold of his staff.

  With the spell completed, Tartum shut himself off from the magic, and his whole world felt mundane. Without the magic inside him, his anger was gone, and he found himself feeling weak and dumb. Unsteadily, Tartum made his way, the five paces, to his staff. He felt like he was walking through thick, sticky mud, and his legs burned with every step. Still stuck in the ground, the staff looked no worse for wear, and Tartum was immensely grateful for that. Pulling it out of the ground, he held the staff gently and spoke the word of command.

  “Light.” But nothing happened.

  Anguish hit Tartum hard, with his failure. Why didn’t his staff respond to his command? Everything worked like it was supposed to...didn’t it? Sure, he had to force it a little, but the light and smoke absorbed into the staff, just like with the coin! So why isn’t it working now? Thinking about what happened, Tartum remembered when the coin was enchanted with the infused light, it had shone brightly for a moment. So overcome with anger, Tartum didn’t notice if the gold on the staff had glowed or not. Thinking hard, he did, in fact remember seeing the staff glow, but it wasn’t all the gold. Just one part, only one of the six strands of gold that ran down the length of his staff, had shone with the brilliance he should have been looking for.

  Tartum opened himself slightly to the magic. He did it without thinking, an instinctual reaction to the situation. One strand at a time, he placed his finger on each of the gold lines. As he did so, he uttered the word, “light” and waited to see if the gold responded. The first strand didn’t, neither did the second or the third. As Tartum placed his finger on the fourth line of gold, he felt a small tug on the magic inside him. He had never felt anything like it before. It was as if this particular strand was responding to him, or rather, the magic flowing inside him. The feeling of the response made Tartum begin to perspire.

  “Light.” he spoke, just above a whisper. The line of gold began to shine. A soft yellowish light, beamed the entire length of the golden strand. As the gold began to glow, the slight tug he felt became a suction on the magic within him. The staff was feeding off the magic, flowing through him. Fear gripped Tartum, and he pulled his hand away. Immediately the light went out, and the pull he felt disappeared.

  “I’ll be damned!” Tartum said, in disbelief. He placed his finger back on the strand, and the tug was back. “Light.” He said in a normal tone, and the gold lit up. This time it was brighter, and the pull on the magic inside him was stronger. It was amazing! The enchantment was feeding off the magic, he was drawing from the source. Tartum didn’t fully understand why it was working like this, and he didn’t care. He knew enough about what he had done to make it work.

  Tartum thought about what had just happened. About one of the lessons Isidor had taught him, earlier in his training. Magic couldn’t be forced, it was too strong for a mortal to control. Isidor had told him this, over and over again, throughout the years, and yet, isn’t that what he had just done? Hadn’t he, in his anger, forced the magic to respond and do his bidding? Maybe it was the excitment of success, followed so closely by the bitter taste of failure. Maybe it was his exhaustion from a day of recreation, or the amount of magic he had just channeled through himself, but Tartum just didn’t care. He knew it had worked, he knew he had made it work, and he also knew that now he had the advantage needed to beat his master and renew his lessons in magic. It was enough for now.

  “Dark.” he said. The the light that shone from his staff went dark, and Tartum smiled. Laughing to himself, he walked back to the wagon to get some sleep.

  ...

  Two days had passed. Two days of listening to Isidor whine and moan, about how his head hurt, and how much he just wanted it to stop pounding. Two days of listening to him make deals with invisible Gods, that if they would just make the pain go away, he would never drink again. If the Gods were listening, they gave no sign. For two days, Tartum paced around the wagon, bringing Isidor water and bread when he called for it. Then he would bring him towels and a bucket, so he could retch it all back up. When Isidor fell asleep, Tartum would go to the front of the wagon and practice with his staff. He dared not speak the word that would illuminate the gold in his staff. He was terrified, that if Isidor didn’t get well soon, the enchantment would wear off or not be bright enough to distract him. To compensate, Tartum decided it would be a good idea to practice as much as he could. Every little bit helped, afterall.

  Tartum was irritated at Isidor for making him wait. Now that everything was in place, he really didn’t like the delay. Try as he might though, he couldn’t get angry with him. He wanted to be angry with him. He even told himself over and over again, that he was furious with Isidor. Yet, everytime he heard Isidor wailing for him, he found himself dropping whatever it was he was doing in order to tend to his mentor’s needs. He was concerned over his friend, and even though Tartum was irritated about the delay, he genuinely wanted to see his master get better. Even if it was just so that he could crush him. Laughing at the irony, Tartum resumed his practicing with his staff.

  So proficient with the staff had he become, he no longer had to think about the moves. One movement seemlessly flowed into the next. The weight of the staff and the green blur that marked its passing, was all that registered to Tartum’s mind. He was a fluid vision of skill and precision. One with his staff and the martial dance they wove. It was a good feeling. It made him feel strong and independent. The staff was a friend, a lover, the closest companion Tartum had ever known. It was his protecter when he was in danger, and his strength when he was weak. It was one of the few things Tartum loved. It was second only to his magic and his desire for power.

  Two hours passed, and Tartum never stopped moving. His muscles ached with the pain of prolonged exercise and strain. He didn’t mind. It was a sweet pain. One that left him knowing he was alive. He barely noticed the weight of the forty pound weapon anymore. He had grown into it as much as it had become a part of him. Finishing up his manuvers with a flourish, Tartum held his pose for a moment. He allowed his muscles to sieze a bit, and then exhaled slowly just as he’d been taught. He felt the tingle of adrenalin leaving his body, felt himself calming and his breathing slowed. His exercise done for the day, Tartum went to the back to clean himself up. Afterwards, he checked on his master and relaxed with his spell book for the rest of the day.

  The next day, Tartum woke up later than usual and realized it was almost noon. Shrugging to himself, he made his way out of his mess of pillows that functioned as his bed and walked to the bathroom area to wash himself up and find something to eat. He found Isidor sitting in the kitchen, making himself lunch.

  “Morning Isidor, I see you’re feeling better.” Tartum said genuinely happy to see his friend back on his feet. “Good thing too, I was getting sick of being your nurse.” Tartum jested. The wagon was beginning to feel a bit empty without the old man running around.

  Isidor rolled his eyes before responding, “Yea, yea. Maybe next time you could wear the dress a good nurse would wear. By the gods man, I swore you left me to die there sometimes!” Grinning, Isidor clapped Tartum on the shoulder.

  “I’m sure you’re anxious to get your head caved in by another one of our sparring sessions. Which is good, because I could use the exercise after being bed ridden the past few days. Eat, and then meet me in the front of the wagon. You might have a shot today. I might be a little slow, thanks to the hangover.” Laughing, Isidor didn’t wait for a reply and headed off to the training area.

  Tartum simply smiled. “Not today old man.” he said to himself, “not today.”

  CHAPTER 6

  The fight was brutal. If Isidor had ever been sick, he gave no sign. His metal staff swung effortlessly al
l around him, as if it was possessed by a demon, hungry for Tartum’s blood. It was all he could do to keep up and parry Isidor’s furious attacks. Tartum was driven back, forced to give ground, over and over again. He could keep up his defense for a while, he knew, but he was running out of space to fall back in. Soon, he would be up against the wall of the training area, and then Isidor would knock him upside his head, or take out his legs, and he’d be on the ground. The thought normally would have scared him. There was nothing fun about being cracked upside the head by his master’s staff. Even if he claimed to “hold back” everytime. It certainly didn’t feel like he held back.

  Perhaps it was the fact that he wasn’t scared or panicking, maybe it was the fact that Tartum was completely at ease with his plan to win, that he saw Isidor’s normal blur of martial prowess falter. It was only for an instant, but that was all Tartum’s subconcious required to act. Without thinking, Tartum caught the sloppy attack with a counter of his own, and the next thing he knew, he was the aggressor. The realization fueled Tartum’s aching muscles, as the adrenaline flowed into him. Attacking his master with a savagery he didn’t know he possessed, he drove him back to the center of the room. This was the best Tartum had ever done, and he actually thought he saw fear flicker in his master’s eyes! Perhaps he wouldn’t need to use his enchantment after all!

  Low striking, spinning, reversals, high striking, countering, counter striking, counter thrusting, pushing, kicking, thrusting. The blur of movement became the dance of violence Tartum had come to love. The clacking of the two staffs meeting was like an old friend’s laughter to him. So entranced did he become in the moment, he didn’t see Isidor smile and perform a manuver he’d never seen before.

  Jumping back and away from Tartum’s final thrust, Isidor left Tartum off balance from the manuver. It was only for a moment, but it was enough for Isidor to perform a one handed lunge with his staff, and connect solidly with Tartum’s ribs.

  He absorbed the force of the attack, fully, with his chest. He felt his ribs flex and his lungs yield to the pressure. The pain was staggering, the failure was infuriating. Rage came to Tartum then. A fury born of knowing he had been tricked, led to believe he had a chance only to have it so quickly snatched away by his master’s superior skill. The fury pushed aside the pain from the blow, and the quivering feeling in his lungs. There were only two thoughts on Tartum’s mind as he renewed his assult on his master, vengeance and victory.

  His rage startled Isidor, who fully expected his last shot to knock Tartum to the ground. Blows like that had always finished him before. Something had changed in Tartum, and Isidor was finding it difficult to adapt.

  Going back on the defensive, Isidor fell back to Tartum’s wrath. The fight went on for some time while Isidor waited for his chance to turn it around. Tartum refused to give him the oppurtunity. His fury had built itself up into a rage, and now all Tartum saw was red. His one thought was to destroy the treacherous man before him.

  Swinging low, Tartum tried to take out his master’s legs, nimbly, Isidor avoided the attack and thrust down with the butt of his staff, trying to take off Tartum’s head. Tartum brought his staff up just in time to parry the shot, and he followed through with an downward thrust that locked them together. Staff on staff, each man trying to push the other away through sheer strength alone. While Isidor was the stronger of the two, Tartum had youth and fury on his side and they were, for the moment, stalemated. Looking into his master’s eyes focused on his own, Tartum knew this was his chance.

  Shutting his eyes hard, he opened himself to the flow of magic. He felt the raw force pour into him. In his rage, he took more in than he meant too and felt everything. His ribs were on fire and his body was thrashed from the over exertion. He could sense his master’s heart racing, and...he could feel something else, something from inside his master. Something powerful. Tartum realized then, why Isidor was so fast, why he had kept so far ahead of him during their sparring sessions. Isidor was opened to the magic as well and was using it to feel out Tartum’s moves, to remain faster than him, to react quicker, to give him the strength he needed to defeat him time and time again. Tartum’s fury at his mentor’s deception knew no bounds! Why hadn’t Isidor told him raw magic could be used like this? Why hadn’t he noticed Isidor was open to the source before?! Most of all, however, he wondered why hadn’t the thought occured to him!? Isidor was using magic in its basic form, to heighten his senses to gain the upper hand! Isidor wasn’t a better fighter than Tartum...he was a SMARTER one!

  All his frustrations at his own stupidity, all his inner turmoil, the treachery, the secret, the pain, the loss after loss...all of the stored up emotions and frustrations of the past years of set backs and failures, gathered in Tartum’s heart and threatened to cause it to explode. Focusing, he forced all the the bitter feelings out of his chest, with the uttering of a single word.

  “LIGHT!”blood and spittle flew from his mouth. His throat went raw with the force of which he shouted the word.

  The golden strand on Tartum’s staff sucked the magic out of him so fast, he thought he was going to pass out. The sudden shock, took the fury and the strength from him. If the surprise at the volume of magic the staff was absorbing from him was a shock, the brillance of the light that suddenly flared into Isidor’s eyes was doubly so.

  With a scream of surprise, Isidor fell back covering his eyes. He was in pain and blinded by the sudden flare. Tartum heard his master’s scream and felt his resistance dissappear. His master must have fallen back, and Tartum allowed himself to fall to his knees. He knew it had worked; he could hear his master’s panicked steps shuffling away from him. Quietly, Tartum opened his mouth and uttered the word “Dark”. The light from his enchantment went out, and the suction of magic ceased. Tartum opened his eyes. He saw Isidor falling back, trying to hold up his staff defensively with one hand, while trying to wipe the blindness from his eyes. Tartum watched him for a moment, reveling in his vulnerablity. Knowing that his oppurtunity was slowly slipping away, he used his staff to pick himself up and walked, silently, towards his prey.

  Without a word, Tartum summoned every ounce of strength he had left and swung his staff hard, into his master’s gut. With a great, “OOF!” emanating from him, Isidor doubled over from Tartum’s attack and fell to his knees. Tartum took the head of his staff and slammed it into Isidor’s side. He hit him with a vengeance, only years of defeat and treachery, could teach someone. He didn’t want to kill his master, but he wanted to come close.

  Isidor fell to his side, with a thud, and Tartum stood over him. His moment of triumph wasn’t as glorious as he had envisoned it to be, but he still felt pretty good about it. Exhausted, he dropped to a sitting position, looking at his master’s unconscious form. He found himself feeling guilty about hitting him so hard. He had won the moment he hit him in the stomach, why hadn’t he stopped then? He wondered about it for a moment, then pushed the thought away. If Isidor had taught him anything, it was that showing mercy was not what fighting was about.

  “You almost never fight with weapons with the intention to maim or wound. You fight to kill. Those that fight for any other reason usually end up dead.” Isidor had told him. Fighting wasn’t glorious or romantic; it was an act, designed to take the life from someone or something, and Tartum had just mastered it. Taking pride in his prowess, and patting himself on the back for executing his plan so well, Tartum relived the battle in his head. He focused, in particular, on the revelation of his master’s source of skill. Opening himself up to magic, to heighten he senses and abilities during a fight, had been brilliant! The only way an opponent would know, would be if they too were channeling magic. The trick shouldn’t have surprised Tartum as much as it did. Isidor made quite a living with the art of deception and magic. So many questions entered his mind about the last few years, though.

  Was he using the magic the whole time, to keep ahead of me? Why hadn’t he told me? Was it a test? Was he so insecure, he needed to che
at to win? Was it really cheating? Was he really so good, that Isidor had to use magic in order to beat him? How long had he been infusing himself with magic, in order to keep himself superior to Tartum’s skills?” Tartum wondered, as he sat next to Isidor’s unconscious form. One question bothered him more than any of the others, however...

  “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  ...

  It was almost night when Isidor finally came around. Tartum had carried him to his bed of pillows, and placed a cold rag on his head. He had brought some of the headache concoction he found, freshly made, in the kitchen. Apparently, Isidor had counted on Tartum needing it, after their sparring match. The irony did not escape him.

  “How do you feel, Master?”Tartum asked with a grin.

  “I feel like you cheated to beat me.” Isidor said, with a groan. He could not hide the pride in his voice for Tartum’s victory however.

  Tartum was insulted, “I cheated!? How long have you been using magic to enhance your senses? Weeks? Months? Years? I never would have known, if I hadn’t have used my enchantment. I think that makes us pretty much even. I finally beat you, and now you must resume my magic lessons.” Tartum said, clearly irritated.

  Isidor looked up at his apprentice. He side and stomach hurt, and he knew it would be a few days before he would be moving without pain. Still, nothing felt broken, and he wasn’t coughing up blood, so it wasn’t as bad of a beating as he’d guessed Tartum would have given him when he finally won. Hell, at times Isidor half expected Tartum would flat out kill him when the day finally came. It had been over a year now, that Isidor had needed magic to keep ahead of Tartum’s skill. Just before he issued his ultimatum to motivate Tartum to greater feats. He had performed remarkably. Isidor couldn’t have been more proud of him. He would die before he let him know that, however.

  “Very well pupil, you win. Although, I used magic to enhance my senses, you used it to cast a spell. Not exactly honorable...but there really is no honor in a fight, as you know. I concede that I’ve lost. When I can function again, I will resume your training in magic. I cannot teach you anymore with the staff. Well done Tartum. Well done.” Isidor said, in his sage teaching voice.