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

by Brock Deskins

  Allister caught up with Miranda near the stairs leading out of the dungeon. Both stopped before Inquisitor Fennrick as he stepped into the hallway.

  “How did it go?” Fennrick asked.

  The couple’s faces shimmered and contorted as they dropped their illusions. “Perfectly,” Inquisitor Tamara answered.

  “She is sobbing uncontrollably, her spirit seriously compromised if not broken,” Inquisitor Parkes said. “A few more sessions like this and we will certainly have access to the Codex Arcana.”

  “And you will have your promotion to Senior Inquisitor,” Tamara added.

  Fennrick beamed under the successful report. “Then I had best go play my part.”

  Fennrick walked toward the sound of Ellyssa’s sobbing and paused in the open door until she sat up and looked at him. He had watched the girl tortured, even inflicted a great deal of suffering himself, but her face showed more pain than he had seen from her before. He doubted she was broken yet, but they certainly managed to create a flaw in her defenses. Now he just needed to exploit it.

  “I could not help but overhear,” the inquisitor said. “It sounds like you are truly on your own now. You don’t have to be, you know. I have been thinking. You showed a great deal of strength and cleverness when we fought. You certainly humiliated those Academy weaklings. We could use those kinds of talents here. Our numbers are declining just as is The Academy rolls, and our mission is vital to the security of the kingdom. I know my associates would support me in requesting that you be given the chance to become one of us. It would be on a probationary basis and you would be guarded and limited in freedom for a time, but if you showed you were willing to act properly and worked with us, I am sure I could convince The Academy to give you a chance. Think about it.”

  Fennrick turned and walked away. Ellyssa was so lost in thought she did not even hear the door slam shut and the lock clank home. She wanted to ignore the inquisitor, wanted to spit in his face as she had at his previous offers, but this time she could not help but consider it. And for that, she hated herself.

  CHAPTER 18

  Azerick clung to the side of the soaring mountain like a spider on a wall and made the mistake of looking down. Through the tops of the wispy clouds below him, he could see the sheer mountain face descend an untold number of feet. Farther out, where the mists did not cling to the mountainside, Azerick could see giant swaths of green, which he assumed were the tops of trees spreading out across the land and occasionally opening up to reveal lakes, rivers, and fields. He was so high up there were no distinctive features evident in the sprawling terrain, only a patchwork of colors, like a quilt blanketing the planet.

  Looking up did not make him feel much better as thousands of feet of grey granite glared down at him, ready to send him plunging through miles of open air for his audacity in trespassing upon their heavenly heights. At this altitude, he should be freezing to death in his thin covering of silk, but his body maintained a comfortable temperature despite the massive plumes of fog erupting from his mouth as he breathed. He assumed it was due to Lissandra’s magic.

  “Is this really necessary?” Azerick called up to Lissandra.

  The Guardian looked down from her perch on a ledge perhaps a hundred feet above Azerick’s head, calmly sipping from the teacup that never seemed to leave her hand. “It is vital for your training, both physically and mentally.”

  Azerick had undergone a series of grueling tasks over the weeks, each one more strenuous than the last. The simple, yet fatiguing, task of walking and doing lunges quickly became much more acrobatic like walking on his hands and performing stunts that required not just physical strength and endurance, but also significant balance and concentration. When Lissandra told him this morning that today was his last day of physical training, he had been overjoyed. When the Guardian then told him he would be climbing to the peak of the mountain in which they lived, he longed for his previous tortures.

  He soon pulled himself up onto the ledge and sat next to Lissandra. “Is climbing to the top truly necessary?”

  “It is important,” answered Lissandra.

  “Why? What can I get out of the climb from up there I cannot get from here? Nothing has really fatigued me for days now.”

  “I will tell you when we get there,” Lissandra answered cryptically.

  Before Azerick could protest further, the Guardian’s teacup vanished and she lazily threw herself over the narrow ledge. The first time she had done this had startled Azerick terribly. He had rushed to the ledge, expecting to witness Lissandra plummeting to her death only to see her sheer silken robes become a pair of great leathery wings of an azure hue.

  Lissandra abruptly reappeared as she raced upward, soaring several hundred feet over Azerick’s head until finding another ledge upon which to perch. She once again summoned her cup of tea and waited for Azerick to resume his climb. Azerick did not keep her waiting for long and resumed his arduous trek up the mountain face. It took Azerick nearly two hours to reach the Guardian’s newest roost.

  “You are taking too long,” Lissandra said as Azerick pulled himself onto the ledge. “I want to reach the summit early enough to return by nightfall.”

  Azerick gave her an annoyed look. “If you are in such a hurry, you could just fly me to the top.”

  “The air is too thin, and you are too heavy for me to carry. Besides, it would defeat half the purpose.”

  “The purpose being the amusement you take in watching me suffer?”

  “Not entirely, but largely yes. Now hurry up. We are behind schedule.”

  Azerick sighed as Lissandra once again hurled herself into open air and flew upwards. “Give me your wings and then let us see who reaches the top first,” he muttered.

  With another grumble, Azerick picked out the best route for the ascent with his eyes before gripping the rock and climbing once more. The climb was not that difficult. The face of the mountain was rough and provided ample hand and toeholds and his body felt very strong. Azerick was not certain how strong he was before all this, but he had a feeling such unflagging strength was not normal for humans. What he did not know was whether the source of that strength was due to his rigorous training, the awful food and drink Lissandra forced him to eat, or something magical in nature.

  Such a climb, especially by someone so ignorant about such an endeavor, should have been terrifying. However, Azerick knew Lissandra would never let him fall and, with such readily available support for his hands and feet, scaling the mountain was little more difficult than climbing a tree. That still did not mean Azerick was completely free from feeling nervous. There was simply no way to take his mind completely off the fact there was so much empty air between him and the ground.

  Azerick finally attained the long, narrow ridge shrouded in snow and ice running up to the mountain peak like the monstrous spine of some colossal animal. Lissandra stood waiting only a few paces away, her silk gown fluttering in the breeze. She did not say anything, only turned and began walking along the steeply inclining ridge toward the rocky, snow-capped summit.

  Azerick followed dutifully, plodding through the soft blanket of unmarred snow. It was then he noticed the Guardian left no footprints despite the fact that he sunk to his knees in the white powder. Yet another advantage of mastering the arcane, he surmised.

  He continued to trudge up the slope, which became steeper as he neared the final ascent to the summit. Fortunately, it never became so steep he had to start climbing again. Azerick finally reached Lissandra, who was sitting on a bare expanse of rock, and flopped down beside her.

  “Now will you tell me why you forced me to climb to the top of the world?” Azerick asked exasperatedly.

  Lissandra pointed out toward the expanse beyond them and the clouds cleared away to reveal the world beneath them. “Look out there, and look well.”

  Azerick did as he was told and studied the patchwork of colors thousands upon thousands of feet below him. Mile after mile of browns, greens,
and golden swathes of land stretched out to the horizon. Blue ribbons of water looked like the veins and arteries of the land. Behind him, the peaks of grey stone and snow capped peaks, some nearly as tall as the one upon which he sat, stabbed at the sky in a jagged field as far as he could see.

  “This is what you are fighting for,” the Guardian said. “Those lands you see, and even more you cannot, are populated with hundreds of thousands of lives. Beyond the Great Barrier Mountains lies an even greater land where millions call home. The Scions will destroy it all should they be victorious.”

  “That is an enormous responsibility,” Azerick stated, feeling very overwhelmed under its weight.

  “It is,” Lissandra agreed, “but your entire life has been carefully directed to be capable of bearing it. You are strong, and you must remain strong and unwavering in your resolve. I want you to remember this view and what it represents, and use this memory whenever you feel your resolve slipping. Tomorrow, we will begin recovering your memory, and you will need every source of strength you possess to endure it. You will hurt, you will doubt, and you will not want to face what you will experience, but you must so you will become what you were and what you must be.”

  Azerick let Lissandra’s words soak in and responded heavily, “I understand.”

  “I truly hope so. Come, it is time we returned.”

  The Guardian took Azerick by the hand and the expansive vista from atop the mountain peak vanished and was replaced by the comforting walls of Lissandra’s home. Food was set out and waiting, and of a variety far more palatable than he had previously enjoyed.

  There was little conversation that night, and Lissandra encouraged Azerick to get as much sleep as he could. Despite his anxiety over what was to come, he had little trouble falling into a deep sleep, thankfully devoid of nightmares. When next he opened his eyes, Lissandra was seated next to his bed.

  “We will begin now,” the Guardian told him. “Your brain is at its least cluttered immediately after you wake.”

  Azerick nodded. “Okay, so what do I do?”

  “Just lie back and close your eyes.” Lissandra held up a clear gem the size of a large hen’s egg. “I will search your mind and store the memories I find in here, and then put them back in order, much like putting together a puzzle.”

  “Sounds easy enough.”

  “It is not. It will be challenging for me and positively overwhelming for you. Now close your eyes and let your mind go. You will sense little until I begin returning your memories to you. When you see them play out, you must focus on them and accept them back into you. Some you will joyfully welcome with open arms, others will make you want to flee and cause you great distress. You must fight the fear and pain of those unpleasant memories and take them in as deeply and completely as you do the others. It is part of who you are and you must not deny them. When you feel you cannot go on, remember what it is you are fighting for. The first day of battle starts now.”

  Azerick closed his eyes and did his best to relax. He felt the cool pressure of the gem as Lissandra touched it to his brow and began softly chanting. The jewel hummed and vibrated against his skin and grew warm as if heated by the sun.

  For a long time, Azerick felt and saw nothing, but then he detected a change in the heat and vibration of the crystal. Images began flooding in and Azerick willed them to clarity. Visually, they were indistinct, but a wave of emotion hit him with great force. He felt the arms of his mother cradling him, heard her voice singing him a lullaby, and felt the love for him radiating out of her. Tears came unbidden and flowed down his face as he experienced such unfiltered emotions.

  His life raced forward in a series of flashes. Azerick reached out, grabbed hold of a particularly clear image, and drew it to him. He was on his father’s ship standing behind the huge wheel controlling the rudder. He looked up and beamed into his father’s strong face. Darius smiled down at his son, his calloused hands covering Azerick’s as he gripped the big, wooden wheel.

  Azerick was in the courtyard of their home, the loud clack of wooden swords echoed off the walls as he and Master Ewen dueled in a mock battle. His old weapons instructor smacked him hard in the shoulder and berated him for leaving his guard open. The words of every book he ever read came flooding back to him, reminding him of how much he loved to read and learn.

  The feelings he experienced were far more immersive and substantial than he had expected. Every sound, sight, and smell came to him with complete realism and solidity. Every emotion and sensation he experienced over the years felt as fresh as if everything was happening at that very instant, but compressed and concentrated into a few short hours.

  He opened his eyes and returned to the reality of the present when he felt Lissandra pull away the gem. Azerick’s entire body trembled with pent up emotion desperately seeking release and his breath came in ragged gasps.

  “Why did you stop?” Azerick asked.

  “It is enough for today.”

  “I thought you said it would be horrible, that what I saw would torment me. These memories are wonderful. I remember my father and mother and the love they hold for me.”

  “And that is why I chose this point to stop. I want you to imprint them into your mind fully. Tomorrow, the pain begins and you will need these joyous memories to bear it. When the pain becomes more than you think you can bear, you need to focus on these few pleasant memories and hold them tightly within your heart.”

  Once again, Lissandra warned him of impending emotional angst. Azerick wondered what could have happened in his life that would cause her so much concern and prompt such continued warnings. Was it the events of his life that were so terrible or just the process of retrieving them? These first happy memories were certainly intense, and the unpleasant ones would most likely be equally strong, but could they be so bad they threatened to overwhelm him? Was it the things he saw and experienced that concerned Lissandra so greatly or the things he had done? She had pulled him from the abyss, a place for the souls of the damned. Was he evil? Did the Guardian fear he would return to his vile ways when he learned who he truly was?

  Wonderful images of Azerick sailing with his father filled his dreams that night. He felt the salt spray upon his face and the taste of it upon his lips. He hastened across the gently rolling deck of the ship, carrying out his father’s instructions with zeal. In another scene, his mother sat with him as he studied from a book, helping him with the harder words and answering his many questions. When he woke, he saw the face of his mother for the briefest moment upon Lissandra’s countenance.

  “Today is when the true test of your resolve begins,” Lissandra said. “Are you ready?”

  Azerick nodded and the Guardian again touched the crystal to his forehead and began softly chanting. Azerick felt himself slip away into the familiar dreamlike state and watched as the images began pouring in. Watching his life unfold at such an incredible speed should have made it impossible to comprehend, but his mind absorbed every image, sense, and emotion like a sponge.

  Azerick gasped and jerked violently as he experienced the loss of his father, mother, and home. He was able to recall his emotions the first time the tragedy struck. He experienced the agony again but compounded several fold. The first time his parents died, he had time to process his emotions before facing the next horror in his life. Now those heart-rending moments came at him with crystal clarity and no time to mourn, process, and overcome his turmoil.

  He tried to conjure the images and joyful feelings he felt yesterday, but the torment he felt now overwhelmed them and crushed him beneath its oppressive emotional weight. Azerick writhed in agony as he suffered a seemingly unending barrage of pain and misery-inducing events.

  Lissandra finally relented when Allister took Azerick in to join The Academy. It was the happiest moment of his life after the death of his father, and he was grateful for the memory. He clung to it as he wept; trying to take comfort in the memory of his mother’s loving arms and his father’s strong, pr
otective hands.

  There was another source of strength as well. It was something deeper and more personal, a well of power growing from somewhere far beyond himself. It, more than anything, was what defined, shaped, and drove him. Azerick dipped his mind and soul into the silver essence of the Source and let it envelop him. His skin flushed from the shame he felt from feeling more comfort in his magic than in the caring arms of his loved ones. It was the first moment Azerick truly began to understand who and what he was.