The Sorcerer's Abyss (The Sorcerer's Path)

by Brock Deskins

  Azerick interrupted, “That is what you are. So you are two thousand years old? You fought these Scions?”

  Lissandra inclined her head. “Indeed I did. The elves created twelve such creatures, of which I was one. We were called the Guardians, although we have gone by many names. Our duality of spirit prevented the Scions from simply dominating us as they did the dragons or any of the other lesser creatures. When the Great Revolution occurred, death beyond imagining cast its pall over the land. The Scions raised the mountains upon which we are now residing in just a day, effectively cutting the world in two. But even with the kingdoms divided, the races fought on, knowing that surrender would mean the death of their species, for the Scions would never allow them the opportunity to rise up again.

  “By the end of the war, only a fraction of the races’ original population survived along with one human hero, Magnus Ollandar and his marvelous armor. He became the first true human king, and his descendants have ruled ever since. With the aid of the new gods, the Guardians managed to defeat the Scions, but they failed to destroy them. The Scions agreed to banishment, knowing that one day they would return. That day is fast approaching, and it is why you are so vital.”

  “How can I defeat the Scions if the gods could not? What about the other Guardians? Will they help me as they once did before?”

  Lissandra’s mask of pure calm slipped for a moment and her pain flashed briefly. “I am the last of the Guardians.”

  In that moment of shared loneliness, Azerick felt a kinship with Lissandra. “What happened to them?”

  “The elves created twelve Guardians. By the time the Scions capitulated, only five still lived. The Guardians helped the gods banish the Scions within an alternate dimension and created a wall of magic to keep them confined. It was left to the Guardians to ensure the wall did not fail. We tried to live with the elves, who we viewed as our surrogate parents, but over the centuries, the elves became distrustful of our power. Many feared we would attain the highest positions within the elven hierarchy. The elves did not like the idea of being second to something they created. It was foolish, but they asked us to leave and so we did. Not belonging anywhere, and fearing others may turn against us, we fled to the far corners of the lands to maintain our vigil over the Scions’ prison.”

  “So where are the other four Guardians?”

  “The prison walls were flawed, and the Scions have spent the last two millennia chipping away at them. On occasion, they managed to create enough of a breach to send through some of the minions they have spent the centuries creating. When that happened, the only thing strong enough to seal the breach was the entirety of our life force. The last breach occurred several years ago and the only other living Guardian gave his life to repair it. I am now the last, and my time is fading.”

  “Why?” Azerick exclaimed.

  “I told you, prying you from the abyss was a phenomenally difficult task. It took everything I had and more to achieve even this flawed level of success. Like the barrier, it required me to expend a great deal of my life force to enact. I knew this going in, but it was the only chance we all have.”

  Azerick did not know how to respond or even feel. This creature, who is seemingly immortal and fought to free him and the rest of the world from enslavement, just told him she willingly sacrificed her life for his.

  He swallowed in a desperate attempt to choke down the knot in his throat. “Why would you do that? Who am I to warrant such a sacrifice? I cannot even move!”

  The Guardian smiled down at Azerick. “You will move again, and you will be the savior of the races.”

  “But I don’t know how! I am not like you. I am not a Guardian. You said only the duality of your spirit allowed you to approach the Scions and bring the battle to them. How can I hope to do that?”

  “Azerick, you also possess a dual spirit. You will regain your memory, and with it, your power.”

  Azerick shook his. “I just cannot see it. What dual spirit? I am not like you. I am only human.”

  “No, you are not like me, but you are not as different as you think. It is something I cannot tell you. You must come to understand it on your own. Simple might is not what will save the world. Your greatest duty will be uniting the races. Unfortunately, it will also be the most difficult. The elves are deeply secluded and distrustful of others, the dwarves have locked themselves away under the mountains, and humans cannot set aside their own petty desires to reach for a common good. The other races are equally divided or secluded, but fear not, you will not be alone. You have made many friends, even enemies, who you may call upon for support. And there will be another, perhaps the greatest weapon since the elves created my kind, but that is for later.”

  Azerick wanted to raise a hand and run it through his hair but it only twitched and flopped back down onto the bed. “Why does so much fall upon me? This All Mother created the gods, even the Scions. Why can she simply not destroy them?”

  Lissandra smiled as if explaining to a child why the wind blew or the sun shown. “The All Mother is not a being or a creature as we are, or even as the Scions or gods are. She is the sun and stars. Her body is the universe in which we live. Her blood is the Source from which we draw all magic. Inside our bodies are tiny organisms. Some cause illness while others fight them to make us well and heal our wounds. To the All Mother, we are like those tiny creatures. She created the Scions, but they became malignant tumors, and like the disease, it is not so easy to be rid of them. It is up to us, the tiny creatures, to do battle and heal her. We cannot think of her in such a mortal way, for she cannot think of us in such a way.”

  Azerick’s head hurt from trying to understand the Guardian and only marginally succeeded. He prayed he became smarter when he got his memory back, because right now he felt like a simpleton. He thought he understood what Lissandra was saying and knew his understanding was a partial one at best.

  “This would be so much easier if I could remember,” Azerick said dejectedly.

  Lissandra smiled sympathetically. “Not necessarily. Much of what I have told you has been lost through the ages. The centuries following the Great Revolution were very hard times, especially for the humans. As a forward-looking people, much of your history was lost and forgotten. You must remind them.”

  “I just do not see how I can possibly do what you are asking.”

  “You have already accomplished amazing things in your short life. It is what makes humans so remarkable, and you are remarkable among humans. Now let us mend your body, for it is the foundation of your existence.”

  Azerick nodded and watched as Lissandra pulled a red crystal from the pocket of her sheer, silken gown. Kneeling next to Azerick’s prone form, the Guardian chanted softly as she ran the crystal from his head down his naked body. Azerick felt the crystal thrum against his skin in sync with Lissandra’s chanting. His arms and legs tingled as the Guardian traced a path from his head and along each extremity.

  He ached to ask what she was doing, but thought it best to leave her to her task uninterrupted. Eventually, his arms and legs began to feel less leaden and more responsive. When he had moved his arm earlier, it felt as if it was separate from his body, but now it felt more attached. After about an hour of treatment, Lissandra stopped her ministrations and stood.

  “That should enable you to start your physical recovery.”

  Azerick pulled the silk sheet back over his body. “What did you do?”

  “The journey created a disconnect in the neural pathways responsible for translating thought into motion.”

  “Uh, what?”

  “Forgive me. I often forget most people, even those with their memories intact, are ignorant of our greater functions. Inside your brain are tiny pathways. Those pathways connect to your nerves, which allow your brain to make the muscles move,” the Guardian explained. “It is much the same thing that is wrong with your memories. They are still there, we simply need to find them and reconnect them.”

  “I s
ee,” Azerick responded, staring across the room at nothing. “I guess it was a lot of bad luck to get both my memory and muscle connection broken, huh?”

  Lissandra gave Azerick a serious look. “It was good luck that only the greater responses were broken. It could have just as easily been the unconscious commands controlling your breathing and the beating of your heart.”

  “Oh,” Azerick said softly. “When do we start on getting back my memory?”

  “We must work on your physical self first. You will need your strength when your memories return. Azerick, this will become very unpleasant for you. You will experience your entire life in a matter weeks or months. All the joy and sorrow will smash into you like a wave from the sea. Such a thing is an exhausting experience, and if you are not strong, it will crush you. If you lose your mind, I will be forced to destroy you, even knowing I may doom the world by doing so.”

  “Thanks for the warning. I’ll do my best not to do that.”

  “Rest today, but do not lie stagnant,” Lissandra ordered. “Move your arms and legs as much as you can. Practice sitting up, but do not get out of bed. Enjoy this time. It will be the last pleasant day you have for a long time.”

  Lissandra vanished through the doorless entryway with that final warning. Azerick tried to sit up, made it about halfway, and fell back onto the bed. He quickly realized his emaciated body was nowhere near typical for him and had indeed suffered a great deal of atrophy. His chest was sunken and the bones showed clearly through his pale flesh. He settled for raising first one leg and bending it at the knee until it hovered over his stomach. He then straightened it and did the same with the other.

  Azerick grunted under the exertion and sweat soon beaded his brow and ran into his eyes. After only a few minutes, each repetition elicited a gasp and a struggled groan. He collapsed, panting and exhausted from what should have been a simple exercise. Catching his breath once more, Azerick settled for simply raising and lowering his arms until they also became too fatigued to continue. He fought his body’s desire to sleep and continued to alternate his exercises until he became too tired to continue.

  He laid there in his bed, breathing hard and thinking about what Lissandra had told him. As Azerick wiped the sweat from his brow, a task taking significant effort, he wondered how she could think he had the ability to battle something with the power of a god when he could barely move, and unite multiple kingdoms when he did not even know whom he was.

  The entire situation was beyond overwhelming. Then there was Lissandra. She said he was important, but when she looked at him, he could not help but feel like a bug under a magnifying glass. She told him she was dying, dying because she rescued him from the abyss. Was she telling the truth? Was any of it true? He could think of no reason for her to lie, but then he could barely think at all. Lacking the strength for anything else, Azerick closed his eyes and slept.

  That night, horrors filled Azerick’s dreams. He found himself walking through the streets of a city, stepping over or walking carefully around bodies littering the ground. Faces he did not know cried out to him, covered in blood. Buildings burned and smoke hung heavy in the air, carrying the scent of death within its murky haze. He found himself at the foot of enormous stone steps and began climbing.

  Here, in his dreams, his body worked fine. He felt power in his muscles and deep within himself. He looked up and saw a brilliant bolt of lightning sizzle across the sky as it cut through the smoke. He knew he could call it down and wield it with just a thought. His ascent took him above the smoke and only the cries of the few living and thousands slowly dying echoed their reminder of the carnage below.

  As he cleared the smoke of the burning city, he discovered the steps climbed the side of a gargantuan pyramid of black stone. Upon reaching the top, Azerick stood before a shattered throne of the same black stone decorated with the skulls of humans and monsters. Without thinking why, he sat upon the macabre seat and looked down. As if commanded by his eyes, the smoke cleared. Horrible creatures foul and grotesque clung to the side of the citadel and flew overhead, but he was unafraid. With a wordless command, the creatures bowed before Azerick, and he smiled.

  Azerick shot up and tumbled from his bed, sprawling in an undignified heap. He grabbed at the silk sheet and found it soaked in sweat. Before him was a pair of feet, their delicate bones standing out beneath their cover of sky-blue flesh. He looked up at Lissandra’s expressionless face.

  “I was going to wake you soon, but I see you are already up, however briefly. There are clothes next to your bed. If you can put them on, you may wear them. If you cannot, then we shall begin your training as you are.”

  Azerick turned his head and saw a black garment sitting at the foot of his pallet. He figured it was a gesture to appease his own sense of modesty and doubted Lissandra cared a whit about his nakedness. When he turned his head back, the Guardian was already stepping from the room.

  He crawled to the folded stack of clothing and grabbed at the black fabric. Azerick found the entire bundle consisted of only a black robe and a pair of matching slippers with soft leather soles. He was relieved at the simplicity of the garment. He dreaded the effort and humiliation he would have suffered if it had been a tunic and trousers. Tossing the robe open on the floor, Azerick simply rolled onto it and slipped his arms into the sleeves. The slippers proved a little more difficult since he had to bring his feet up near his chest to slip them on.

  Tying the robe closed, Azerick called for the Guardian. “Lissandra, I am ready.”

  The woman appeared almost instantly and looked down at him from the doorway. “You are dressed, but you are hardly ready. Food is available when you decide to get off the floor.”

  “Can you not help me up?” Azerick asked as he raised a hand toward her.

  “I was told you were a man of exceptional spirit. Was I misinformed?” Lissandra’s irritation was evident only in the slight narrowing of her eyes. “What you are going to experience during your recovery will take heroic effort, and I will not coddle you. Once you leave here, these tasks will seem like child’s play. If you lack the discipline to even stand, then you are not what I was led to believe.”

  Lissandra turned then took a stutter step when Azerick’s slipper struck her in the back of her head. Pausing, she turned her head and said, “That’s a start.” She then turned and walked away before Azerick could see the faint smile tug at the corner of her mouth.

  Azerick crawled to the entranceway, retrieved his slipper, and used the archway to pull himself to his feet. He stood there for several moments gripping the stone doorway as he got his breath back.

  The room beyond looked much like the one he was in only larger. Lissandra sat a stone table looking like an enormous stone mushroom sprouting from the ground near the center. Similar, smaller bulbs of rock framed it on two sides opposite each other acting as stools. The Guardian sat upon one of these sipping from a teacup. Two large plates of food and another cup sat on the table.

  There was no wall against which to brace himself and at least twenty feet of open floor between him and the table. It was apparent she expected him to take a seat and to do it unassisted. Azerick took a deep breath, stiffened his legs, and began taking small, shuffling steps toward the table. The table felt a mile away and his legs would feel steadier on a ship in a storm than they did now.

  Agonizing step after exhausting step, Azerick meticulously crept across the floor. He was grateful there were no obstacles to navigate or he would have been doomed. Azerick reached the table and grabbed it as if it were the only floating object in a storm-tossed sea. Ensuring his rump was positioned over the stone stool; he sat down heavily and smiled triumphantly at Lissandra.

  “You look like you expect some sort of reward for walking to the breakfast table,” Lissandra said dully over the top of her cup.

  Azerick glared at the Guardian and replied, “And you sound like you want to get hit with another slipper.”

  The Guardian was thankful her
cup hid the smile trying desperately to break her calm façade. “I have prepared you a meal that will help you regain your strength. Eat it, and then we can begin your training.”