The Jade Mage: The Becoming: Volume 1

by Latoria, William D.

  A dagger flew threw the air and cut the rope holding the chandelier up. It crashed to the floor, scattering furniture and people alike. Most of the candles that decorated it, went out with the fall. The few that remained lit, barely left enough light in the room to see. Hilary held onto Tartum tighter. Her fear of the dark overwhelming her concern over anything else.

  Tartum’s head cleared up. He was still dazed, but at least he could think again. He could barely see. The light was dim. He could see Hilary, the terrified look in her eyes told him her fear of the darkness was beginning to overwhelm her.

  “Don’t worry, my love. I will light up the darkness for you.” Tartum said. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out one of his Light Orb scrolls. He tried to always keep one on him, for a situation just like this. Unraveling it, he squinted at the page to make sure he could still read it. Something inside him screamed not to do it, but he shook his head to clear his mind. He needed to focus and couldn’t have weird feelings clouding his focus. The commotion around him seemed to be miles away. No one seemed to really be fighting anymore, now that the light was almost completely gone. A few people continued, judging by the sounds of grunting and punching, but nothing that compared to a few moments ago. This, Tartum decided, was a good time to cast his spell.

  Taking a deep breath, Tartum opened himself to the magic and felt it flow into him. It was a bit more difficult to control, he noticed. Tartum assumed it was getting hit in the head that was causing it, but was confident he could fight through the difficulty. He had to bring light to the darkness for Hilary! He didn’t want to fail her. The little voice in the back of his head was wailing, begging him not to continue. For a moment, Tartum almost decided against casting his spell, but one look into Hilary’s terrified eyes was all the encouragement he needed to banish all doubt of his current actions. He would light up the darkness for her!

  Tartum held up the scroll and began to channel magic into the parchment, as he had done many times before. The scroll lit up, as the magic infused it, and Tartum began to recite the spell.

  “Heh-Ro...ro...rrr...roniz Tu...”

  Isidor was on the floor inside the bar. When the fighting had first started, a large man...or men, it was hard to remember, had picked him up and threw him over the counter. His landing had been a hard one and knocked the wind out of him completely. Once he had recovered, he had decided that the melee was getting way out of hand, and staying right where he was, was a good way to wait this fight out without further injury. He heard the screaming, the threats, the crashing and breaking. He saw men and women beating each other with hand, foot, and chair. He saw a man drunkenly throw a small dagger, and then heard the chandelier crash behind him and most of the lights go out. It got quieter as darkness enveloped the room, so Isidor continued to listen. It was then he heard what sounded like magic words being chanted. It was then that Isidor saw the glow and heard Tartum begin to stumble over the words.

  “TARTUM! NOOOOOOOOO!!!!” Isidor yelled, but he knew it was already too late. Tartum had botched the spell, and the scroll was beginning to turn red and shake in his hands.

  “GET RID OF IT, YOU DAMNED FOOL! THROW IT, TARTUM! THROW IT!” Isidor dove across the bar and tackled Tartum to the ground, just as he dropped the scroll.

  Isidor knocked Tartum down behind a an overturned table, the impact knocked Hilary down and spun her. Isidor covered Tartum with his own body, and braced himself for what he feared would happen.

  Isidor’s fears were well warranted.

  The scroll shook violently as it fell to the floor, the contained magic desperately seeking an outlet. As it pressed the medium it was trapped in, the reality of the parchment and the surrounding few inches around it, began to flux and expand. The words blazing, with a deep, forbodeing red light. The parchment fluttered towards the floor. When it touched the worn wooden planks...chaos erupted.

  An explosion, unlike anything Tartum had felt before blew over him. The table Isidor had knocked him behind, slammed into them and sent them both flying through the glass window that made up the face of the brothel. The force of the explosion broke every glass and piece of wood inside the bar. Rooms were devastated. The doors were blown to splinters, that shredded anyone unfortunate enough to be taking refuge behind them. The people nearest the blast were either completely vaporized or blown to pieces, in a shower of pink mist. As Tartum flew through the air, barely comprehending what was happening, he saw Mama flying through the air nearby. She was missing half her face, and both her arms were a mangled wreck. He thought she was looking at him with her remaining eye, he thought the look she gave him was familiar. His last thought, before his impact with the ground twenty feet outside the brothel, was that she was going to make him buy her a new eye. Mama always made him pay for stuff he broke.

  The force of the impact with the street, knocked him out.

  ...

  He woke up. He could hear screaming. Men and women were calling out for help. Some were just screaming in pain or in panic. The smell of smoke and death hung in the air like fog. Tartum opened his eyes and forced himself to sit up. The scene before him was one out of his nightmares. The brothel was literally torn in half. There was a fire roaring inside the wrecked establishment. People were running out of the flames screaming for someone to help them. A few of the truly unlucky ones were crawling out of the flames, only to die horribly, before reaching the outside. Glass, broken furniture, wood, and body parts were scattered all over the street. People from the nearby homes, were running towards the carnage, in an attempt to stop the flames and to save what few survivors there were.

  Tartum saw Mama again. Her body had hit the ground with such force, that it had ripped her arms the rest of the way off, and the wreckage of her face was twisted into a mockery of a smile. She looked truly horrifying. Tartum couldn’t help himself. He retched. The purge helped him get a handle on the situation. He couldn’t fully grasp what had happened. He didn’t remember how he got outside. He was unharmed, other than a splitting headache. The last thing he remembered was Isidor knocking him down...ISIDOR!

  Frantically, Tartum seached for Isidor.

  “Isidor! ISIDOR! DAMNIT ANSWER ME! ISIDOR!!!!”Tartum screamed into the chaos.

  “Shut up, you idiot, I’m right here.” came Isidor’s voice.

  A broken board shifted behind Tartum, and Isidor stumbled out from behind it. Tartum sighed his relief. Isidor appeared to be ok.

  “Isidor what happened?” Tartum asked in a daze.

  “You happened, you Gods damned idiot. You tried to cast a spell, using a scroll, while drunk and it misfired. What the hells were you thinking!?!” Isidor screamed.

  “I was trying to cast the Light Orb spell is all! Hilary was scared of the dark and...Oh my Gods, HILARY! HILARY!!!!” Tartum panicked. He went tearing through the streets, looking for his love. He had to find her! Isidor called after him, but Tartum wasn’t listening. He had to find her and make sure she was ok. She had to be ok...she HAD TO!

  He tore through the debris and gore that littered the street, screaming for her until he was hoarse. He found body after body, and each time the body was a woman’s, his heart stopped. He checked each one, with fear in his soul. Relief washed over him everytime it turned out to not be her, only to be immediately replaced with the fear that the next body would be hers. He was beginning to think she was still inside the brothel, which was completely consumed in a roaring fire, when he spotted a shock of blond hair coming out of a pile of broken rubble.

  Throwing himself at the pile, he threw the debris out of his way. His only concern was digging out the body. Isidor was at his side, helping him to remove the heavier pieces. Having his friend with him gave Tartum renewed hope. Finally, after Isidor helped him move a huge wooden beam, Tartum found Hilary. She was face down and not moving, but other than that she was unblemished. Pulling her from the rubble, Tartum lost his reason with the relief of finding her.

  “It’s going to be ok, my love. I’m gonna take
care of you now. Nothing will ever hurt you again. I’m so sorry for this. I was just trying to help. I never meant to hurt you. I love you, Hilary! I...” Tartum looked up at Isidor and saw that all color had drained from his face, and his mouth was moving as if to say something but no sound would come. He was staring at Hilary. Looking down at her body, Tartum saw what had stricken his friend speechless.

  From her stomach down, there was nothing but a jagged string of entrails, that had left a terrible trail of gore, from where Tartum had pulled her from the wreckage. Tartum’s arms went numb, and the intensity of the scene before him was too much to process. Looking at Isidor, Tartum uttered one word before he passed out.

  “Hilary?”

  ...

  Isidor was shaking him. Tartum didn’t want to wake up. He didn’t want to face the reality that Hilary was dead. That HE was the one responsible for her death. He refused to open his eyes. He pushed Isidor away from him.

  “I want to die!” Tartum said.

  Isidor threw himself at Tartum and punched him across the face. The suddeness of the attack snapped him out of his self loathing.

  “Get up, you pathetic wretch of a boy! I did not raise you, teach you everything I know about magic, just for you to throw it all away because of some whore! I swear to the Gods, if you don’t get up, I’ll destroy your spell book, destroy your staff, I’ll take everything magical away from you! You’ll see all of it destroyed before you die, I promise you that!” Isidor screamed his fury at him.

  It had always disgusted Isidor when Tartum acted like this. When things got too hard, or a failure became too intense, he’d just quit and pout like a six year old. There was no time for him to feel sorry for himself right now. He needed to move. Looking around, Isidor saw the towns people gathering up the survivors. Some of them were pointing at them. The looks from the good samaritans weren’t friendly. Isidor knew it was only a matter of time before they were attacked by a blood thristy mob, looking for revenge. Isidor found himself wondering if they didn’t deserve it.

  Hadn’t he told Tartum to be careful with the scroll? Hadn’t he taught him how powerful and dangerous magic could be? He’d told him over and over, about limitations and the consequences for breaching those limits! Over and over, he had drilled those lessons into him. He thought it had sunk in. Thinking about Tartum’s ability with enchantments, his ability with his staff, and his ability with the scrolls; Isidor realized that those lessons had been proven false to Tartum...All of them, until now.

  Looking at his pupil again, Isidor began to pity him. “It’s not his fault” Isidor told himself, “I should have realized how reckless he was being and stopped teaching him so much, so fast. I should have made him see the folly of his actions. Instead, I just kept teaching him, I kept encouraging him. It’s my fault for not giving him more disipline, more respect for the magic and its dangerous side effects.”

  Isidor felt shamed. He felt that he had failed Tartum. Well he wouldn’t fail him this time. Even though the boy’s will was broken, he wouldn’t let the mob have him. Right or wrong, Isidor would see to it Tartum got a second chance. Picking Tartum’s limp form up off the ground, and slinging him over his shoulder, Isidor carried his friend toward their wagon.

  “We must escape!” he thought, ”we must leave this town!”

  Isidor moved as fast as he could. His plan was forming with each step he took. It was a simple plan, relying on his luck and ability to evade detection. He didn’t want to resort to violence unless he had too. He knew that, logically, the town’s people deserved to catch Tartum, and that Tartum deserved to be punished for his crimes. Isidor’s love for him overrode his concerns with logic and lead him to believe he was making the right choice.

  “Damn these people anyway. The only ones I ever really liked are all dead now. Damn it, Tartum! Why did you have to do that?!” Isidor thought to himself. He used the anger that was boiling up inside of him to fuel his flagging leg muscles, to feed air into his raw lungs.

  Arriving at the wagon, Isidor threw Tartum on the driver’s bench and went dashing back towards the town. He hoped no one would find Tartum there. He figured the simple townsfolk would look inside the wagon before searching the drivers seat. Anyone foolish enough to open the door on a magician’s home without permission was in for a painful surprise. Isidor had always trapped his door with a lightning enchantment. As simple as it was dangerous. If you opened the door without permission, the spell knew and would send enough lightning through the person’s body to send them flying through the air. Usually it wasn’t fatal, and Isidor hoped it would prove to be the same tonight. Enough innocent people had died horrible deaths this night. He didn’t want to cause any more if he could help it.

  Isidor ran toward the farms, looking for barns. He hoped to find horses inside them to take and lash to his wagon, so they could make their escape. He doubted the townspeople would give much chase once they realized the culprits were gone and not likely to ever return. He hoped that no one would be willing to come after them over a bunch of dead whores. He had to be right. Otherwise there would be much more killing tonight. Isidor didn’t want to think about it.

  Dashing into the barn, he was elated to see two mares sleeping soundly in their stables. He grabbed a few sacks of oats and threw them over one of the mares’ backs, and then he attached the reigns as fast as he could. It had been a while since Isidor had bridled a horse, and he wondered if he was doing it right. The mares didn’t seem to mind his fumbling hands and helped out as much as they could. Isidor finally got them both ready and lead them out of the barn. The horses were well bred and followed Isidor without question. They were simple creatures and any chance to get out of their small stable and into the open air was all the incentive they needed to follow this stranger.

  Isidor ran as fast he could, while trying to keep the horses from tearing off in random directions, or stopping to eat a tempting flower. The damn beasts were slowing him down, and he needed to get back to Tartum. Isidor’s mind was full of images of arriving too late to find Tartum crucifed by a mob of angry villagers, or being torn apart, or burned alive, or any other equally horrific death a crazed mob could come up with.

  After what felt like an eternity, Isidor arrived to find the wagon undisturbed. Tartum was sitting in the driver’s seat, with his head in hands. His body was racked with the sobs of mourning. It was a good sign. The boy was at least still human and aware of the atrocity he had caused. Lashing the horses to the wagon, Isidor threw the reigns up at the seat and ran around to inspect the wagon. It hadn’t moved in almost twenty years, and Isidor had no idea if the wheels would hold up in their current condition.

  Opening himself up to the magic, Isidor let it flow through him and into the wheels and structure of the wagon. As he had feared, the wheels were riddled with termites and cracks. The enchanted structure of the wagon, however, was in perfect condition. The enchantments holding it together were as strong as ever. Quickly, Isidor ran inside to get the few components he would need to mend the wheels and make the wagon ready for their flight. As Isidor ran out of the wagon, he saw a man with a rusty sword creeping up on Tartum.

  The man’s intention was clear. He was going to murder Tartum. There was no doubt, there was no question. The man’s eyes were set on Tartum’s weeping form. His clothes were wet and burned in places. His shaggy hair looked singed on one side, and he favored his left hand. He was probably one of the lucky survivors of the brothel. He was only a few paces from Tartum, and he began to position his sword for a killing blow. Isidor went livid.

  Dropping everything, Isidor reached into one of his secret pockets and pulled out a small copper rod. Rolling the rod between his hands, Isidor focused his magic into it and recited the words to his spell.

  “Yuik-rena toem-urthma!” as he spoke the words, the man jumped. He turned around to face Isidor, surprise and fear in his eyes. Isidor saw the look in the man’s eyes, for a moment, Isidor pitied the man, but he shouldn’t have tried to k
ill his friend.

  Isidor pulled his hands a few inches to the sides of the rod. It stayed suspended in the air between’s his hands, spinning at a supernatural speed and glowing a bright white light.

  “Za-tan!” lightning exploded from the rod and hit the man dead in the chest. He went flying, end over end, into the night sky. He never saw the man hit the ground, but judging by the hit, he was as dead as poor Hilary.

  Isidor paid him little attention. With his senses heightened by the magic, he could hear the faint yells of outrage and anger from the town’s people. It sounded like they had organized and were heading straight toward them. He was running out of time! Gathering up his spell components, he focused his mind on the mending spell.

  Holding a piece of wood in one hand, and a piece of iron in the other, Isidor chewed on a sparrow feather. Masterfully, he channeled his magic through each component at the same time. Releasing the wood and the iron, they flew across the gap between them and became one solid mass, warping and bubbling in the flow of magic. Spitting the chewed up sparrow feather into the alloy in front of him, Isidor spoke the words to the spell.

  “Men-lingrows Du-pot-mend-grouse!” the amalgamation of wood, iron, and sparrow feather leapt into the decrepid wheels of the wagon and began to repair the damage, two decades of neglect had caused. The process was taking too long, and Isidor forced more magic into the mending spell to speed it along. From the sound of it, the mob was getting very close, and he could see the faint red glow of torches on the horizon. If he didn’t speed things up, he was going to have to fight these people. Isidor didn’t know if he could.

  Killing the man wasn’t a difficult choice. Killing an entire town of people that were rightfully looking for justice, would be. Killing an entire population of good honest folk, just to protect one man, one guilty man...Isidor didn’t know if he could do it; or rather, he didn’t want to know if he could. Would he kill every man, woman, and child in this town, to save Tartum? The thought made him sick.